


Toppling Heroes

by Steelbadger



Series: Harry Potter/DC Fusion [2]
Category: DCU, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Auror Harry Potter, F/M, Head Auror Harry Potter, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 95,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26420626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steelbadger/pseuds/Steelbadger
Summary: When a high profile robbery is foiled by Superman, and it is revealed that a witch may be involved in the attack, Harry must get to the bottom of it lest the secrecy of his world be put in danger. Sequel to Kicking Gotham.
Series: Harry Potter/DC Fusion [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1920430
Comments: 140
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Toppling Heroes, the sequel to another of my stories, Kicking Gotham. These stories take place in a fusion of Harry Potter and a somewhat mix-and-match version of the DC Universe where the history of the Harry Potter world is mostly unaltered, and the big-hitters of the DC world are just starting to come out of the woodwork after such things had been mostly forgotten by history.
> 
> This story has been pre-written in draft, and so will be getting a regular posting schedule (probably weekly) as I edit chapters for consumption. It will be around 85k words long once complete, and 18 chapters long.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The British Museum was lit in hues of red and flickering blue. A dozen police cars were scattered across the piazza, light bars flashing in the cool evening air. The quiet pop of his arrival was lost amid the sound of hundreds of people milling about on the lawn in front of the museum. The huge building, designed in a style meant to conjure images of the Parthenon in the mind of the viewer, was always an impressive sight at night, lit as it was in stark relief by the many decorative uplights. The flashing blue lights surrounding it added a whole new dimension to it, like Poseidon himself had come to London to claim it for his own.

A small patch had been marked out at the edge of the lawn. It was a circle, surrounded by 13 brightly coloured poles driven into the ground, around which the muggles flowed unawares. In the middle of the patch a small, open-sided tent had been erected. It hung in the air, supported by invisible magical tethers as witches and wizards hurried to-and-fro beneath it. Each of them was consumed by their individual tasks; a microcosm of the scene beyond the circle.

A young wizard, whom Harry vaguely recognised as someone he'd passed occasionally in the corridor at work, greeted him immediately. He was dressed in passable muggle clothes; a button up shirt, and a set of chinos that were a little on the short side. He also possessed the same look of earnest helpfulness that Harry had long come to dread. "Glad you could make it, sir," he said by way of introduction. "We've not long gotten set up. Looks like a witch got caught up in a meta-incident."

That warranted a perplexed frown. He'd been told by the breathless intern that had summoned him that he was needed. "Why am I here, then?" he asked. "Surely this is a job for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes? What about the dark magic that was reported?"

For a moment, the kid was illuminated in the headlights of yet another arriving muggle emergency vehicle. "Um, well, there's been some indication that dark magic was used?"

That didn't sound anywhere near as serious as he'd been led to believe. Under Harry's impassive look, the kid managed to quail even further. "Look, what's your name, kid?"

"Oh, it's Brown, sir. Willard Brown," he said, his eyes darting back and forth between Harry and the ground.

"Okay then, Willard. I figure this is your first big call, so let me explain something," said Harry as he ran a hand down his own tired face. He tried to keep his tone calm, but it proved to be a little beyond him. "I am sure you're aware of this, but we have an entire team of aurors who would be able to handle 'some indications of dark magic'. An entire night-shift of them, in fact. Conveniently located at the Ministry, and _not_ in their bed like I was. The procedure is that you call them in, and then they decide if it's a big enough problem that my personal attention is required. Understand?"

Harry wasn't sure what it was that meant some people seemed to think that of all the people in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, only Harry himself was in any way capable of dealing with even the most menial of problems. At the start, he'd tried out getting annoyed at the invariably young offenders, but had quickly discovered that it was like kicking puppies. For some reason, the younger generation, even more than his own, seemed to think that magic itself had its source somewhere far up Harry's own arsehole, and nothing he did to disabuse them of that notion seemed to have any effect.

"Understood, sir," said Willard, now looking absolutely anywhere but Harry. There was a momentary pause before his eyes flickered back up to him for just a moment. "Um, should I do that now?"

"No," said Harry with a sigh. "I'm up now, so I may as well take a look. Just, please, in future, remember that I need to sleep just as much as any man, okay?"

"Yessir," said Willard who then, bizarrely, snapped off a salute.

"There's also no need to salute," said Harry drily. "We're wizards, not commandos. Now, get me up to speed on what happened here."

"Right, uh, old habit," said Willard. "Well, like I said, it was a meta incident. There was an event being hosted at the museum to show off some new archaeological finds from Greece, I think, and some criminals hit it with the aim of stealing one of the artefacts."

"Anything magical?"

Willard shook his head. "No, sir. It's all completely muggle. Well, anyway, it turns out the meta calling himself 'Superman' was either also present, or was warned about the attack somehow, and he turned up and a fight started between him and the thieves."

Harry glanced over towards the museum, reassessing it for any exterior damage. He'd been getting better in recent months, but Superman tended to leave some fairly significant damage in his wake. The museum seemed to be undamaged, at least from the outside.

"So no metas amongst the thieves?" Harry guessed.

"No, sir. But they did reportedly bring a little glowy rock with them that seemed to weaken Superman enough that he didn't take them down straight away."

Kryptonite then. Harry made sure to stay fully aware of everything going on in the muggles' meta community. Especially with the arms-race between the so-called 'heroes' and the various different criminal networks hotting up as it was. It had been causing problems, to say the least, for the Statute in some of the places where they ended up clashing. "Right, well carry on then," he prompted.

"Well, as the fight got more serious, a witch who'd been attending the event tried to get involved," said Willard. "She cast an unknown spell at, we think, one of the thieves. The whole thing was caught on camera by at least a dozen other muggles."

"So, naturally, you've wiped the footage and obliviated all the nearest witnesses," said Harry.

"We did," said Willard. "Only, we couldn't obliviate Superman himself as he left the scene before we got here."

"No need to worry about Superman," said Harry. It was still technically policy that muggle metas needed to be obliviated if they came into contact with the magical world, but it wasn't one that any of the law enforcement departments around the world worked especially hard to enforce, much though it displeased their political masters.

After-all, Zatanna was part of that group Superman had set up along with Batman and a few others. It was pretty much certain that they already knew a fair bit about the wizarding world.

Willard's head bobbed up and down. "That's what Mr. Gudgeon said."

There was a short moment of silence then, while Harry waited for Willard to continue, but it seemed he was waiting for some other input. "Carry on," said Harry, a little impatience colouring his tone. The kid still hadn't explained why his own presence was required.

"Oh, right! Well, the spell she cast missed, you see," he said, tripping over his words a little. "When we checked to make sure there were no lingering effects on the item she hit, well, there was a trace of dark magic. Mr. Gudgeon was certain of it."

Harry resisted the urge to point out that Gawain Gudgeon had once 'sensed' dark magic on a set of place-mats that had been charmed to offer glowing praise for any and all food placed upon them. "Right, well, take me to wherever this 'trace' is," he said. He was rather proud that he'd been able to keep the dismissive tone subtle enough that Willard didn't pick up on it.

"Of course, sir," said Willard, "It's still in the museum, so…" He trailed off, though the look he gave Harry's robes communicated the rest of the sentence clearly enough.

"Yes, yes," said Harry as he snapped his fingers with slightly more theatricality than was probably necessary. His auror's long-coat transformed smoothly into exactly the kind of boxy and unimaginative suit often worn by muggle investigators. It was an old familiar piece of transfiguration that he could just about do in his sleep. It also had the secondary effect of ensuring Willard didn't forget just who he was speaking to.

A little belatedly, Harry realised that showing off like that might have been one of the reasons he'd been roused from his bed so unnecessarily.

He caught Willard's eye and nodded towards the museum. "Lead the way then."

As they made their way past the tent, Harry glanced in and caught a glimpse of honey-blonde hair that something in his memory supplied was probably important. He stopped a moment and took a closer look. One of the other investigators moved out of the way, and his suspicion was confirmed. It was definitely Daphne Greengrass. Before she could notice him staring, he looked away and resumed following Willard. A couple of seconds later he stepped over the invisible boundary between the concealment poles.

"So, this witch is Daphne Greengrass?" he asked as they made their way across the lawn.

Willard looked back, seemingly not expecting the question. "Who? Oh, yes. That's her. Do you know her?"

"Went to school together," Harry supplied noncommittally. He wasn't about to spill his life story, after all. "Has she said anything?"

"From what I've seen it's shutting her up that's the trick," said Willard before he realised what he'd said and his eyes went wide. "Uh, that is to say, she's very opinionated."

"Don't worry about me," said Harry with a chuckle. "I didn't say anything about liking the woman. I think you were on the money the first time around, so let me rephrase; has she said anything about the dark magic?"

"Apart from to deny that she ever cast anything?" said Willard. "No, nothing."

At that moment a police sergeant wearing the normal eye-wateringly yellow loose-fitting jacket over a black stab-vest stepped in front of them. "Excuse me, sirs, but can I see some form of identification?"

"Of course," said Harry as he pulled out his official identification. It was much simpler to have real identification for official business. As the muggle's security measures became more advanced, it was much too easy to trip over some minor detail, and that only led to paper-work. Much easier to have one of the few muggles in the know set them up with real papers.

Harry's papers identified him as a high-ranking member of the Security Service, usually referred to as MI5. The officer blinked twice before looking back at him with just a bit more respect. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir," he said quickly. "You can go right on in."

"Thanks," said Harry agreeably. "Before we do, though, can you tell me who's currently in charge?"

"That'd be DCI Thompson," said the officer, slinging his thumb over his shoulder for emphasis. "He's inside. Wouldn't be surprised if the Commissioner's on his way though."

"Much appreciated," said Harry, before continuing up the handful of steps and between the looming Greek pillars to enter in through the almost comically small doors.

The British Museum was the kind of building that stuck in the memory. Harry had only ever been a couple of times before, when it had been Hermione's turn to decide on the location for their monthly outing, at least until they had fizzled out. He still remembered Ron asking how the Muggles had managed to charm the ceiling to be like the one at Hogwarts, much to her consternation. Then, when she was half-way through her explanation of the engineering principles at work, he'd admitted that he was just having her on. He pushed away the amusing memory and looked about.

Usually, the space was fairly open, filled only with milling people and the occasional over-excited child, but now it looked very different.

The evening event had clearly been a grand one. Many tables had been laid out all around the Great Court's massive central rotunda, and here and there between them temporary display cases had been set up. Each one had some important historical find or other held within it. Harry saw a couple of swords, one much more ornate and impressive looking than the others. There were also some very fancy looking shields, and a number of different works of pottery, each decorated in what Harry recognised as a Greek style. That was about as specific as he could get; he was no expert on antiquities.

That the evening had not ended well was clear enough to see in the overturned chairs, shattered wine glasses, and occasional forgotten shoe scattered across the floor. A few of the tables had been smashed in whatever fight had occurred, and as Harry looked around he saw a gaping hole in the glass roof of the courtyard.

Fortunately, from the look of the damage, it didn't seem likely that anyone had been seriously injured in the fight. A group of six men, presumably the thieves, were clustered in one corner of the court. A couple of firearms officers watched them carefully for any sign of resistance or an attempt at escape. Around the rest of the large open space, men and women in white overalls were picking over the debris with great care, while others took pictures of every square inch of the huge room.

Harry looked over towards Willard. "Okay, where's this dark magic, then?"

"Oh, it's over here," he said, picking his way carefully through both the debris and the police officers inspecting it towards one of the temporary display cases. It had been smashed, with glass glittering all around it, but the item it contained was still there.

With a subtle gesture, Harry cast a muggle repelling charm, ensuring the muggles police officers would pay them no heed. One of the officers nearby promptly looked at his watch, and said something to his companion before they both wandered off in the direction of the door. Harry then pulled his wand out from his sleeve and inspected the item more closely.

It was an unassuming little piece: a jar of some sort, or maybe an urn. It was pretty drab, whatever colours it had once been painted were long lost to time. It was in a pretty simple style that seemed almost out-of-place amongst the other items of the collection, but perhaps that was the very reason it was important. Harry knew he didn't have the knowledge to judge such things.

As he poked the tip of his wand at the jar, he cast a simple dark magic detection spell upon it. A faint blood-red glow surrounded it for a moment before fading away again. Harry frowned. In all honesty he hadn't expected to find anything at all, but it looked like chance was not smiling upon him.

Next he cast the same spell on the glass case, but it didn't light up at all. He looked back at Willard, who was watching him closely. "Was the case smashed in the fighting?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," said Willard, his expression and tone both apologetic. "Maybe the videos the muggles took would show that?"

"Good idea," said Harry, and before he'd even finished speaking, the kid was near-enough running off in the direction of the door again. To himself, Harry muttered, "I'll just keep looking at this, then."

" _Mageia Specialis Gustatus_ ," said Harry. It was an uncommon spell, but he had found that it could often give some useful insight. The only issue with it was that it had to be vocalised, or the results could be a bit unpleasant. This time the red hue was a little stronger, and before it could fade, Harry flicked his finger through it and then licked it carefully. It was dark magic, of that there was no doubt. He could easily detect the tell-tale rotten aftertaste of particularly foul magic, but there was little enough else to go on. Really, if it wasn't for the aftertaste, he'd have said it was more like a simple stunning charm. He took another taste. Definitely a stunning charm, if slightly modified by someone with a disregard for the comfort of others.

He pulled out his notebook and set a quill down on it before he started casting more diagnostic charms. First, he started teasing apart the different aspects he'd been able to pick up with his simple taste check. Then he started trying to work out exactly the dark magic's nature was.

The quill danced and jumped across the notebook, filling page after page with tightly spaced shorthand in addition to a few runes that Harry thought might have some connection to the magic used. He knew he'd be able to ask Daphne what spell she'd used, but he didn't really trust her to tell the full truth, especially as he was becoming slowly more certain that there was some soul magic component to whatever it was she'd cast.

What was the woman thinking? Certainly it was possible to induce catatonia through careful manipulation of a person's soul, but the cost of doing that was surely far too high. Daphne was no dark witch in training, she was a socialite with delusions of grandeur.

Or, more importantly, delusions of her own wealth. How exactly had she managed to get a ticket for the event? From what Harry had heard on the grapevine, she'd finished running through her inheritance not long after that business in Gotham.

"Was there any evidence the thieves had an inside—" He stopped when he realised he was talking to empty air. Willard hadn't returned from his errand.

With a frustrated sigh, Harry set off in the direction of the officer in charge. After a few steps, he paused for a moment. He'd almost forgotten to remove the muggle repelling charm. After a lazy flick of his hand to dispel the charm, he continued on his way across the floor.

"I don't care about excuses," DCI Thompson was saying into his phone as Harry approached. "We need those custody vans here yesterday, do you understand?"

Without waiting for any time to receive a confirmation, he hung up the phone and immediately started shouting orders to some of the other officers present.

"Yes, what is it now?" he said when he noticed Harry. "Who are you? Do you Whitehall types not have anything better to do?"

"I'm with the Security Service," said Harry, flashing his muggle credentials again. "Can I ask you a couple of questions about what happened here. I'll be brief."

"I'm sure you will be," said Thompson, his voice positively dripping with scepticism. "What do you need to know?"

"Have you got anything from the thieves, yet, and has there been any indication that there was an inside man?"

Thompson eyed Harry with exactly the kind of healthy suspicion he'd hope to find in any experienced officer of the law, but he answered. "They're Intergang, I assume you've heard of them?" he asked.

The new face of organised crime, from what Harry had heard. "Are you sure? I thought they operated in the States?"

"Not anymore it seems," said Thompson grimly. "Half the crew here is born and bred in the UK. If they've decided to expand over here, I figure both our lives are going to get a bit more interesting."

Harry nodded absent-mindedly, perhaps that would be the case if he actually worked for MI5 but as it was it wasn't all that important. "Then what were they after, and what about the inside man?"

"Well, they aren't talking, obviously," said Thompson. "Looks like they were after the Sword of Damocles. That's the swanky looking one in the middle. Meant to be worth a pretty penny."

That wasn't especially helpful to Harry. Whatever that sword was, it clearly had nothing to do with whatever Daphne had been up to. He'd have to see if he could get the Minister to approve an interrogation of the muggle thieves. It seemed a puzzling coincidence that Daphne Greengrass of all people was out at some muggle event when it was hit by a gang of thieves.

Or maybe that was his inherent distrust of her coming through. She'd done everything she could to drag his name through the mud after the Gotham affair and while none of it had stuck, he still wasn't especially inclined towards giving her the benefit of the doubt.

"As far as an inside man goes," Thompson was saying, "we're not sure how they got in, but one of the officers did find a security door that was malfunctioning. Showed as locked when it actually wasn't. Could just be a computer error though."

"Okay," said Harry as he mulled over the new information. He'd have to get someone to take a look at the lock, but he felt like he already knew the answer. "Thanks for your time, Detective Inspector. I'll let you get back to work."

"Much appreciated," said Thompson with every impression of gratitude. The little bow as he said it was taking the piss though.

Harry made his way back out the front door. Upon emerging back outside in the cool night air, he was immediately able to recognise Willard. Apparently he hadn't had the necessary credentials to get by the officers guarding the entrance, and had also not had the needed imagination to work out a way around that particular setback.

Without stopping as he walked by, Harry gestured that the younger man should follow. He had to skip a little to catch up, but when he did, Harry immediately asked, "So, did you find someone with a copy of the footage?"

"I did, sir," said Willard, sounding relieved. Probably thankful that Harry wasn't chewing him a new one for taking so long about it.

Harry waited until they'd crossed the invisible line traced out by the concealment poles, before he summoned a large sheet of flawless glass filled with swirling smoke in all the colours of the rainbow. "In your own time," he said, when Willard just looked at it blankly.

"Oh, um, yes," said Willard, as he fumbled a little with his wand. Once he'd managed to come to grips with it, he tapped it tentatively against the glass, and it was immediately suffused with a blue glow. "I've never actually seen one of these in action before," he admitted.

A couple of the witches and wizards present, who Harry suspected really had very little reason to _actually_ be there beyond nosiness and a desire to feel involved, stopped to watch. Harry ignored them. They might not have an actual job to do, but he did.

After a moment, the glow faded, and the coloured smoke picked up the pace. It whirled and churned, and from the chaos an image emerged, like a self-painting watercolour. The image was of the inside of the museum, and it was obvious that the panicked evacuation was already underway by the time the person holding the camera had started filming.

People were running to-and-fro, fear written clearly on each and every face. The footage was jerky and blurry, with the camera darting this way and that as the person behind it joined in the stampede. Really, it was almost impossible to make anything out.

Harry frowned, and tapped the glass plate a few times. It was, in essence, an extension of the magics used to create moving photographs and living portraits, and there was a small amount of extrapolation it could do. With his first tap the image paused, and after a moment the blurry image swam into a much better focus. His second tap brought the image back to life, only this time it wasn't the footage, but instead a living image created from the single moment he'd paused on.

This time, the camera shake and blurred motion was gone. Instead, they were able to see much more clearly what was going on.

Men in ill-fitting black suits could be seen at the back of the crowd. Each one of them carried some kind of muggle automatic firearm, and every one of their faces was covered by the same featureless white mask. As they watched, people tried to push their way through the crowd, towards the exit, but the retreat was soon stopped.

With another few taps to the glass, the originally recording footage reasserted itself on the image, and the camera started to jerk around wildly once more. Once it was pointing in the right direction, Harry stopped it again, and they watched as three more men in masks stepped into the court through the main doors, blocking the main escape route. There were a few in the crowd who looked like they were thinking about trying to fight their way out, until one of the gunmen fired his weapon in the air and they soon reconsidered.

Before things could get any worse, however, Superman arrived on the scene. With a blur of red and blue, he appeared behind the group of three newcomers. It took him less than a second to knock them all unconscious, with their guns crumpled and cast aside.

The other thieves weren't about to take it sitting down though. They started firing wildly into the crowd, and Superman disappeared again into a blur of motion.

Once again, Harry had to change the scene being displayed. After some quick alterations, the scene continued. While most of the thieves were firing into the crowd, one of their number pulled out a small rock that glowed a bright neon green. Almost immediately, Superman slowed enough to become clearly visible, and the gunmen turned their weapons on him instead.

Usually, ordinary bullets wouldn't even have given him pause, but due to the effect of the kryptonite, he was actually forced back. He did not let them have it their own way, however, as in the span of a few seconds his eyes flared a searing red, and two of the gunmen were forced to drop their weapons.

They both charged at Superman, after each of them activated some kind of electrified baton. That was when Harry saw what he was looking for.

A flash of light, far dimmer than Superman's eye-beams, issued from the crowd. Whoever had cast it was hidden behind the packed muggles, which was annoying. His eyes tracked the spell closely, and he carefully catalogued everything about it. It did indeed look like a Stunning Spell, but it wasn't unknown for spellcrafters to try and give their spells the appearance of some other more innocuous spell.

The most obvious difference compared to an ordinary stunning spell was the fact that it passed straight through the glass of the cabinet, only to explode when it hit the jar beyond. The entire image was washed out by the strange red and green explosion, which had probably flashed bright enough to temporarily blind a some of those who'd been closer to it. Even Superman himself was thrown back. When the image returned, he was picking himself up off his feet and shaking his head as if to clear it.

"The stunning charm doesn't do that, does it?" said Willard, though he looked uncertain when he said it. As if he hadn't seen the stunning charm in action a thousand times before.

"Not typically, no," said Harry, resisting the urge to say something more cutting. "Look at the jar, though. It's undamaged by the explosion, but the glass was shattered."

"What does that mean, then?" Willard asked.

"That means we need to talk to Greengrass," said Harry grimly. "I'm not sure what that spell was, but the results definitely don't look like a stunning charm to me." Despite that, he wasn't convinced from looking at the spell that it was actually dark in nature.

"Now?" Willard was looking over towards where Daphne was seemingly exhorting one of the Misuse of Magic response-witches.

"Maybe have them bring her back to the Ministry," said Harry after a moment's thought. "Hopefully she'll be a bit less opinionated tomorrow morning. I need to have someone take a look at my notes on the spell before I question her, anyway."


	2. Chapter 2

Daphne Greengrass stared across the table at him, arms folded rebelliously. "It was a simple stunning charm," she said, glaring daggers. "I'd have thought even _you_ would be able to recognise that much."

The interrogation rooms in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement were fairly comfy affairs, even if they did not look it. The walls were bare stone, the doors were solid iron, and the table looked like it had been the lone survivor in a dozen bar-brawls. There came a point where even mending charms didn't quite cut the mustard any more, and that point had come a bit more than a decade ago. Despite that, the threadbare chairs were layered with liberal numbers of cushioning charms, and the air of the room was always fresh and clear.

Harry sighed in frustration. "You and me both know that's not strictly true. I saw how it passed through the glass case, and the explosion when it hit the jar. That's not a stunning charm I know of."

There was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. What were the chances that she'd used some spell she didn't really understand?

"Look, I don't know why it exploded. Okay?"

Grunting in frustration, Harry decided that he could return to that line of questioning later. "Well, if you don't want to talk about that, what about the unlocking charm used on the door of the museum? Know anything about that?" —He held up a hand to forestall her immediate denial— "Bear in mind, we've checked your wand."

"Look, okay, I broke in," said Daphne, as her shoulders slumped. "I wasn't able to get a ticket for the evening, so I let myself in. That's hardly a crime worthy of the attention of the great and powerful Harry Potter."

"Ordinarily not," said Harry, choosing to ignore the dig at him personally, "but in this case it looks very much like you broke into a muggle event, possibly working together with a group of muggle criminals, and then used unidentified dark magic during their attack. Tell me, how valuable do you think the Sword of Damocles would be on the black market, and how much of your debt to the goblins would it cover?"

"You know about that?" she said with no small amount of surprise. It didn't take long before her gaze hardened. " _How_ do you know about that, did Draco tell you?"

"You really think me and Malfoy meet up every now and then to shoot the breeze and talk about you, of all people?" For someone who was as intelligent as she supposedly was, she had an impressive ability to disregard the people she thought were unimportant.

"Then who was it? I demand to know!"

"That's really not how this works," said Harry with as much patience as he could muster, which wasn't much. Apparently she thought it was a much better-kept secret than it really was. "Ah, I'm the one who asks the questions. Not you. Got a badge to prove it and everything. Now, were you involved with the muggle thieves?"

"If I was involved with those stupid muggles, why would I try and attack one of them with that terrible dark magic you're so worried about?" she asked him, before she supplied the answer herself, "I was _trying_ to stop them! Besides, that sword is worthless."

"So you decided to try your hand at the vigilante thing?" said Harry, not believing a word of it. "How very… selfless of you."

"Look, when that man in blue came in and started doing all that meta-magic stuff, I thought a little bit of ordinary magic wouldn't even be noticed," she said, and Harry got the impression he was starting to get somewhere. "The stunning charm I used looked almost exactly like that thing he did with his eyes. I didn't cast any dark magic, I swear it."

It was a bad excuse, but it was one that was being heard increasingly commonly by governments around the world. If the new muggle superheroes could fly and shoot bright lights around in public, what was the harm if a few witches and wizards did the same?

"Well, it was noticed," said Harry flatly, "and that's why you're here. So, why were you even at the event to begin with?"

"Do I need a reason? I just thought it looked exciting." She stared him right in the eye, and he didn't believe a word of it.

"See, I don't buy that," he said honestly. "You said the sword was worthless. I think you know more than you're saying."

"Anyone could see it's not what they say it is," said Daphne, brushing off his suspicion, but in the process only managing to deepen it. "That flashy hilt is far too well preserved, for one, and the styling? It's _at least_ two hundred years too late to go with that style of blade."

Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Why are you making this so difficult? Why not just tell me you have an interest in muggle antiquities?"

"Would you have believed me?" she shot back.

"Look, Daphne, much as you may not believe it, I'm not out to get you here," said Harry. "I don't much like you after that business last year, but I like to think I do my job well. I'm not going to throw the book at you because you hurt my _feelings_."

"Could have fooled me," said Daphne.

Harry didn't respond. Instead he simply gave her a level look, as if daring her to believe him. Miraculously, it seemed to work. Perhaps he should try it more often.

"Okay, fine. I wanted to go to that dinner because it has some of the most amazing examples of Ancient Greek art ever seen," she said, and at last most of the hostility was gone. "Some of the pieces date back to the Collapse! It usually never leaves a secure vault in Thessaloniki, but like you said, I'm a little short of funds at the moment, and Astoria didn't want to go.

"So, yes, I broke in. But I wasn't going to steal anything. They're literally priceless. When those muggles turned up and tried to steal them, I got pretty annoyed. They were shooting those awful guns all over the place, and the collection could have been damaged." She actually sounded genuinely outraged at the thought of it. "So I decided to help that big blue lump put them down. It was just a stunning spell. The only change was one my grandfather came up with during the Grindelwald war that allowed it to pass through non-magical material without fading. It shouldn't have exploded. That jar is completely unique, and I'd never intentionally endanger it."

As he mulled over her account, Harry tapped his fingers on the table in an irregular beat. That wasn't an unheard-of modification, though it still made sense they hadn't recognised it immediately. There were a great many ways of skinning that particular cat. It made some sense. He'd need to follow up with the sister, and wouldn't that be a joy? Malfoy would surely be ready and waiting with his wizzwhig nearby as soon as word got out that Harry had been questioning his sister-in-law.

"Tell me about the jar," he said eventually. If she was telling the truth and the spell really had just been a stunner, the explosion must have resulted from some magic already present in the jar itself.

"I was just looking at it when the muggle thieves broke in, so I didn't get all that good of a look," said Daphne, seemingly deciding to continue her streak of helpfulness. "All I can tell you is that it is certainly the oldest part of the collection. My interest lies mostly in Classical Greece and Iron Age Britain, but it seemed like it was much older than anything else there. If I was to hazard a guess, I'd say it is likely to be Mycenaean."

"Did you notice anything magical about it?"

She frowned, apparently not having made the same intuitive leap Harry had made. "No?" she said, almost automatically, before she actually thought about it for a moment. "I wasn't really looking. Everything in that collection was pre-Statute, so it had to have gone past Pavel. It's policy."

That rang a bell. "Pavel? He's the head of the magical wing there, Pavel Geomann, right? You're saying he would have pulled the item if he noticed something off about it."

Daphne's shrug managed to elegantly communicate something approximating agreement, while at the same time not committing herself to anything specific. "Perhaps there was some protective charm on the artefact?"

There were all kinds of problems with that, not least the questionable usefulness of a protective charm that was prone to blowing things up, but there was really no need to explain them to Daphne, so he merely mimicked the shrug she'd offered up to his own question.

"Look, can I go now?" Daphne asked when it became clear Harry was lost in thought.

With an absent-minded flick of his hand, the door to the interrogation room sprung open. "Go ahead. Pick your wand up at the desk."

She hesitated, the mask of certainty slipping again. "That's it?"

Harry stood and made his way to the door with quick, sure strides. He paused for a moment and looked back. "Don't worry, we know where to find you if we need more answers."

He pulled open the door, stepped out into the hall, and started walking towards his office. He was only halfway there when Padma intercepted him.

"You're letting her go?" she asked. Despite the question, she didn't seem terribly surprised.

"I reckon we have about" —he checked his watch— "three minutes before Malfoy caves to his wife and his wizzwhig comes down here demanding Daphne's release. Figured I'd skip the middle-man."

"You also don't think she had anything to do with the dark magic," she added. "What about the use of magic in a muggle area?"

"Not my problem," said Harry. "If Accidental Magic want to get me up at 2am when there's an entire team of aurors ready and waiting, they can do their own legwork. It'll just be the minimum fine, anyway."

By that time, they'd reached his office, and they both stepped through the door. Harry took his seat, while Padma instead elected to lean against one of his magically expanded filing cabinets.

"What else do you have, anything from the unspeakables?" he asked.

"Not a great deal," she said, looking chagrined. "I had to listen to them harp on for an entire hour about early Greek dark magical experimentation. Really, the only thing I got from them was that it was dark magic, but that it seems to have been present on the jar before Greengrass tried to blow it up. They also said it seemed to be fading rapidly. Their notes are on your desk."

"Any ideas on what the magic was intended to do?"

"They had some theories," said Padma, "but nothing concrete. Best guess is that it was part of some ancient wizard's burial effects. There were some similarities with what we know of the spells used to preserve canopic jars during the Old Kingdom of Egypt."

Harry hummed as he considered the possibility. He was no expert on ancient and largely forgotten magics. Most of it was pretty worthless anyway. The Pharaohs had expended so much effort trying to ease their passing into the world beyond, but it hadn't helped. For all the magic they'd squandered in trying to preserve themselves and their organs, they'd all rotted eventually, just the same. There was usually a good reason why magic became forgotten or lost to time, and often it was because something else had been discovered that did the job significantly better.

Despite that there were a few names that managed to survive through the years: Circe of Aeaea, Andros the Invincible, Herpo the Foul, and Falco Aesalon were all names Harry remembered from either some of the relatively brief periods of wakefulness during Hogwarts history lessons, or chocolate frog cards.

Each of them had brought some specific area of magic to new heights. For Circe and Falco, it had been transfiguration. Circe was the first to master human transfiguration, while Falco had been the world's first known animagus. Andros had developed the patronus charm into its modern form, and Herpo had generally made lots of terrible decisions that had stuck around for centuries: basilisks, horcruxes, as well as laying the groundwork for almost all later developments in the Dark Arts. He'd been a real over-achiever.

The magic of the Old Kingdom, though, had been lost almost entirely to time. Harry had no doubt that a magical find which was seemingly still exhibiting some active magic from that era would be fought over tooth-and-nail by magical researchers. That did beg the question; why had no-one noticed it before?

"In that case, we should probably talk to the Museum's curators. See if they have anything on it that might be enlightening," he said, when he realised Padma was still waiting for a response.

"You want me to send out Quigley to see what they have to say?" she asked.

Harry considered it for a second before shaking his head. "No, I'll do it. Send Quigley over to Malfoy Manor and see if he can't get some kind of confirmation from Astoria about Daphne's story, just to be thorough." He'd been there a few times over the years, it often proved a hard place to avoid with all the soirees Malfoy threw to try and cover for his family's little indiscretions during the War. That didn't mean he liked the place.

"Do you really have that little to do?" Padma asked as she pushed herself off the cabinet and stood up straight. "You know what, don't answer that because I _know_ you don't. What about the Justice League? Maybe you should call up Zatanna."

On the face of it, it was an annoyingly reasonable suggestion. Unfortunately, a bit of awkwardness was hardly a valid reason to avoid it. Harry sighed. "I suppose I should."

"And maybe you could also check to see how much they know about the robbery," said Padma, even going so far as to offer up a cheeky wink.

"Har har," said Harry, his voice dripping sarcasm. "Anyone ever tell you you're in the wrong job?"

Padma was just about out the door when she turned and shot him a triumphant grin. "My accountant," she said as she gave him a smug grin. He'd walked face-first into that one.

When she shut the door behind her, Harry picked up the tightly wound parchment that she'd left on his desk. It was filled with narrowly spaced chicken scratchings that looked more like they were the result of an overly enthusiastic scouring charm than any form of recognisable attempt at communication. How was that even possible with modern quills? He had no idea.

After longer than he'd like to admit, he found that squinting at it seemed to aid in comprehension, and was able to make out some things that were potentially worth noting. The remaining hints of dark magic were almost certainly Greek in nature, matching the jar itself, so that was useful to know. The Egyptian influences were way outside of Harry's wheelhouse, so he merely skimmed over the more academic discussion on those. It was interesting to note the dichotomy in the intent of the spell and its root nature. According to the notes, it was inherently preservative, much like the canopic jars it seemed so similar to, and yet the magic was also sacrificial.

The unspeakable who'd written up the report posited that it may be an example of some ancient wizard trying to use the theory of canopic jars, and their supposed ability to preserve and sustain the body on its transition into the afterlife, to create a kind of eternal punishment which stayed with its victim even into the afterlife. It didn't seem all that unlikely, but there was a note from the unspeakable who'd conducted the investigation that they had no idea if that was a likely situation given his limited knowledge of the period.

Harry scratched at his chin for a while, before glancing over at his inbox. The somewhat lax 'system' he used to manage it had resulted in it turning into something of a battle royale. All the different animated notes that had flown into it over the last few days had been fighting desperately to remain on top of the pile.

He knew what most of them were about. He just didn't know what to do about them.

Right on the top of the pile was a severely dog-eared missive from the ICW detailing their most recent advice for dealing with what everyone had started to call 'Meta-incidents'. Over the last couple of years, the number of muggle individuals demonstrating powers that might ordinarily be called 'magical' had increased by an order of magnitude. Where before the world might go decades between bizarre, unexplained happenings, they had become an almost weekly occurrence.

Most in the world-wide wizarding community had already decided where the blame lay: Superman.

He was by no means the first, but he was certainly the most visible. Extensive, and very careful, testing had revealed that he was completely non-magical. In fact, he might even be the least magically inclined being that had ever been encountered. That in itself would have been an important discovery in the world of magical research, that an alien from a planet far away had almost no magical influences in his make-up, but there was something else far more concerning.

To muggles, he _looked_ like magic.

That was a problem. The world had, quite suddenly, been shown a being who seemed to operate on an entirely different set of rules, rules once thought completely impossible, and he kept on doing it. Over the years there had been dozens, even hundreds of wizards who'd had a casual disregard for the International Statute of Secrecy, but even the most blatant of them did not garner the kind of attention Superman did. More importantly, they were subject to wizarding law, and in almost all cases had been quickly 'convinced' to tone down their actions, even if a few of them had never ceased their activities entirely.

John Constantine was one such man. He operated out in the muggle world, with a careless disregard for who saw him in action, but he didn't go out of his way to be seen doing the impossible. Those times when he was seen, it was no great problem to cover it up. Muggles did most of the work themselves, anyway. After-all, everyone knew that magic didn't exist.

He quickly scanned the memo. It was from the representative for magical Persia, and it was calling for the obliviation of not only Superman, but every powered member of the new 'Justice League'.

Harry rolled his eyes and scrunched the paper into a small ball before lobbing it into his waste-paper bin. It would have missed high, but the bin leapt up and snapped it out of the air like a shark catching a passing seabird. In moments it had been shredded into nothing, and the bin became motionless again.

His hand paused just before he picked up the next bit of paper. It was severely dog-eared, but he could see from the name that it was a report on a recent attempt to use the Avebury stone circles to sink Wales. It hadn't worked, of course. The stones were completely misaligned, and as a result all that had happened was an unusually high tide at Weston-super-Mare. He really didn't want to have to deal with _that_ brand of stupidity either.

The unspeakables notes drew his gaze once more. If there was some kind of curse on the jar, then he really couldn't afford to waste his time on other things. He glanced up at the clock on his wall. Unusually for a clock, it had two different sets of hands. One set was completely ordinary, and completed its trundling circuit twice a day, while the other was a little bit special.

Harry thought of what time it would be in Gotham if he had an appointment to meet, and the second set of hands swiftly rotated to show 8:23am. It was a helpful little charm which Padma had insisted on. It showed whatever time was most important to whatever task the owner was thinking about doing at that moment. In theory it meant he had no excuse for being late to the inter-departmental reporting meetings, but it hadn't worked quite as Padma had hoped. She'd completely underestimated Harry's ingenuity when it came to avoiding meetings.

Regardless, 8:23 wasn't too early. He flicked his hand towards where his coat was hung on the back of the door, and a moment later his communication mirror zipped across the room into his open hand.

"Zatanna," he said clearly.

There was a delay of a few seconds before the image shifted and Zatanna's face came into view. Her smile was pleasant enough, if a little distant. "Harry," she said. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Hey, Zee," said Harry. He didn't miss the little reminder that he only ever seemed to contact her when something work-related came up. "How are you keeping?"

"Fine," she said, clearly not wanting him to delve too deeply. "What do you need, Harry?"

There had been a brief period after what he thought of as 'the Gotham incident' when they might be able to make a go of it. Sadly, as with most of his attempts at a relationship since Hogwarts, reality had quickly reasserted itself. He'd soon found himself up to his ears in hearings and meetings. First they had been about Neville, but it hadn't been long before Superman had really started making waves.

At the same time as all that, Zatanna had her own life to live too. It hadn't been long after Harry had returned to the UK that she had started investigating a few magic-related events in Gotham in between her shows. When Batman had come to her with an offer to become a part of the Justice League, she hadn't hesitated.

They'd missed their moment, but Harry sometimes wondered if there could have been something more.

"What do you know about the thing at the British Museum last night?" he asked. His other thoughts could wait.

"Not much," she said, as she frowned and shook her head. "Superman didn't report back in after it was dealt with. I think Br—Batman was going to ask me to contact you pretty soon anyway, if he didn't turn up ."

Shit. "Is that common?" he asked quickly, really hoping it was. "Him not checking in after a call?"

"Not common, but not exactly unheard of," Zatanna admitted. "Tracking data put him at the Fortress of Solitude. He sometimes heads out there if things went really bad. We haven't heard anything of the sort, though?"

"Nothing I've seen suggests it went bad," said Harry, as he wondered what that might mean. "Seems like one of his easier days to be honest." He thought about it for a moment longer, and something occurred to him. "The bad guys did pull out some kryptonite. Who knows how they got hold of that."

"You know about that?" said Zatanna, sounding surprised at his level of knowledge. Superman's weakness was still a closely guarded secret, at least as much as it was possible. Most criminals with connections knew about it, though none but the very best supplied could ever hope to get their hands on any. It was still meant to be a public secret, though, for one obvious reason: The Justice League wanted to maintain the image of Superman's invincibility. "Whatever. Of course you do. Yeah, that might do it. I think he has some kind of vault where he hides it away until he can destroy it."

There was also the fact that it apparently took him a little while to recover from the effects of the strange rock. In that situation, hunkering down in his fortress was probably a sensible option. Perhaps there was nothing to worry about. On the other hand, Harry considered it part of his job description to worry about things that were perhaps not worth worrying about.

He hummed, and glanced back at the notes Padma had given him. "Well, if you hear anything more, do you mind keeping me updated on it? Something just feels off about this."

"Oh!" Zatanna was looking at something else, outside of his view through the mirror. "Speak of the devil. Superman's just called an all-league meeting this evening to discuss what happened."

"Well, if you're able to tell me what he's so worried about, I'd much appreciate it," said Harry. "Don't worry about waking me up if it's important."

"Still burning the candle from both ends, then?" she asked with a sad smile. "Don't worry so much Harry. I'll let you know just as soon as I can, okay?"

"Thanks, Zee," said Harry gratefully. "It's been good to see you. You take care out there."

"You know I always do," said Zatanna with a final smile that at least seemed a little more genuine. "See you around."

With that, her face faded from the mirror, and Harry banished it back into his coat pocket with an absent-minded flick of his wrist.

He considered what she'd told him for a few minutes, and took down a couple of notes. Hopefully it was just the job getting to him, but his instincts were telling him to be ready for the other shoe to drop.

Eventually, he turned back to his inbox. He needed to make more headway with it, or else he'd be in danger of returning to his office to find they'd established their own warrior societies.

He quickly skimmed Thomson's report on the capture of the witch from Avebury, and signed off on the request to move up the Wizengamot hearing if possible. There were a few more reports, though none of them required any action on his part.

Then there was a memo from Garamptus Nott, one of the senior spokeswizards for the Wizengamot. He was complaining once more that Harry had been throwing his weight around in the proceedings last week when he'd silenced a different speaker during a rather long-winded diatribe on the necessity, now more than ever, that Wizard-kind detach themselves completely from Muggle affairs.

When the man had started talking about establishing a colony on the moon to further that plan, reasoning that the costs of doing so could be recouped through sales of harvested cheese, Harry had felt there had been no other option. Into the bin went that note too.

The pile of paperwork didn't seem to have reduced at all. Had someone put an undetectable extension charm on the bloody thing?

He glanced across at the report on the jar from the museum, and his notes from the brief conversation with Zatanna lying on top. Maybe he should check up on it sooner rather than later. It did have dark magic lingering around it. Surely it wasn't a good idea to leave it in a muggle museum, even if the spell was rapidly fading.

Yet another note winged its way into his office and immediately set about trying to rip the rest of his inbox to shreds. Screw it. The paperwork could wait. He was meant to be an auror. What did that mean if he sat at a desk while a potentially dangerous magical item was out in the muggle world? Besides, it was just about lunch-time anyway. Nothing to say he couldn't have it at the Museum.

He spun in his chair and quickly tossed a pinch of Floo powder into his hearth. A second later, in an eruption of green flames, he disappeared.


	3. Chapter 3

It was impressive just how quickly the muggle world had grown accustomed to the recent rise of superheroes. Just a couple of years ago, had a group of criminals with guns broken in, the British Museum would have been closed for days at least. In the new world that had been heralded by the appearance of Superman, it was already open again by the morning following the event.

It was even, if that was possible, busier than it would usually be. As Harry entered into the Great Court, the grand open area in the centre of the museum which was covered by the magnificent roof of leaping steel and glass, he saw that the hole caused by Superman's arrival was garnering more of an audience than any of the actual exhibits. As he looked around more closely, he also noted a suspiciously high number of people who had seemingly developed an unusual fascination with the smooth flagstones beneath their feet.

Searching for some keepsake of Superman, no doubt. Flattened bullets had apparently become something of a collector's item. Really, it was a blessing that Wonder Woman hadn't also been present. There was a certain kind of creepy guy that was seemingly attracted to her like a moth to a flame.

Gawking at property damage or hunting for collectors items was pretty low on his priority list. Instead, he picked his way through the crowd which filled the hall to the massive rotunda that dominated the middle of the court.

There, between a couple of display cases, and completely unnoticed by the thronging muggles all around them, was his target: a pair of tall double doors made of dark oak. Without so much as a backwards glance, he slipped through them, and into the magical portion of the museum.

It was much quieter than the muggle museum outside, but the items it contained were no less historic. All around the edges of the huge circular room, hundreds of historic artefacts were proudly displayed. It was the most extensive collection of magical artefacts to be found anywhere in the world.

That's what the big floating banner over the doorway said, anyway.

In the middle of the cavernous space, a huge ship hung in the air, its sails and rigging animated by magic to give it the appearance of being under full sail. The Flying Dutchman. Its ghostly crew, confined to the ship that had claimed their lives, walked back and forth across the decks aimlessly, blinded to the museum beyond. Every now and then their captain, a long-dead dark wizard, would shout some command, and the crew would hasten to obey.

Harry walked the short distance to the little nook in which the assistant-curator sat during his long days overseeing the collection. As he walked by the different displays, the little information boards hopped towards him and started explaining the contents with much enthusiastic gusto.

The first to reach him began talking loudly and at length about the Ring of Gyges. Apparently long stripped of the charms that had afforded its wearer an early form of disillusionment, it spun slowly behind a magnification charm in a nearby case. Next he was subjected to the full history of a single fang from the very first basilisk, nearly as large as the one Harry himself had killed. According to the board, it had survived nearly five hundred years before Andros the Invincible had defeated it while doing battle with its master. Then there was the skull of Drudwyn the great hound, and the remains of one of the first records of accurate prophecy in the Sibylline Books. As more of the boards clustered around him, each vying to be heard, it became impossible to make out any one of them.

Fortunately, Harry had been to the museum before, and had learned exactly how to deal with that particular problem. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the boards as sparks leapt eagerly from the tip. "Bugger. Off," he said, injecting all the menace he could manage into the words.

As expected, the boards did as commanded and slinked back to their proper positions. Despite that, Harry felt uncomfortably like he'd just kicked a whole litter of puppies.

He snorted at the ridiculousness of it all, and continued onward in blessed silence. Soon he came to the nook where the curator made his office. It was surrounded by cabinets and display cases, many of which were completely unmarked. Piles of papers and books had been stacked up all over every available surface, including much of the floor.

"Mr. Potter!" said the curator in the kind of squeaky voice that always managed to put him on edge. "This is a pleasure! Is there anything you need?"

Pavel Geomann was a short man, with a completely smooth bald head and a pair of watery eyes hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses. His desk, like his entire office-space, was stacked high with all manner of letters and research papers, and he peered over the top of them at Harry with an inquisitive gaze. He stood quickly and bustled over to shake Harry's hand with an enthusiastic energy.

"Actually, yes," said Harry as they shook hands. It was best not to beat about the bush with Geomann, as he was likely to take any attempt at levity as a request for a complete and fully-featured tour of the entire museum, both magical and muggle. "It's about the incident last night."

Geomann frowned, his excitable demeanour quickly evaporating. "Terrible business, that," he said seriously. "To think of the damage they could have done to the collection. I shudder to think of it! Please, please, take a seat."

"Hmmm." As he accepted the offer and conjured up a comfortable seat for himself, Harry resisted the urge to say something about all the people who may also have been injured or killed. It wouldn't have achieved anything. "I'm told you inspected the items on display for any magical traces?"

"Indeed I did," said Geomann. "You always have to be careful with finds of that age. Magic and muggle could get a bit muddled up. I didn't find anything, though. All completely mundane."

"After the incident, I found some traces of dark magic on one of the items," said Harry. "Is there any way it could have gotten by you?"

Looking positively insulted, Geomann was quick to reply: "Absolutely not! I personally conducted the inspections, and there was not a single indication of anything magical in any of the items. Which was it? Is it not equally possible it was some dark magic cast upon it by one of the guests?"

"Do you mind if I ask how you performed the check?"

"Why, the way everyone does, of course," said Geomann, his moustache twitching irritably. "The Specialis Revelio charm. It did not react at all."

Harry frowned and considered what that might mean. Specialis Revelio was a pretty wide net, and should certainly have shown the existence of the dark magic that Harry had found with his own more specialised spells.

In theory, only active magical effects could be detected with the revelio spell, but that shouldn't have been an issue, as the dark magic Harry had found certainly fulfilled that criteria. It was possible for a spell or charm to weaken so much over the years that the revelio spell would fail to respond to it, but at that point the spell should be dead. If the magic had degraded, neither the curator nor Harry should have found any evidence of it, and it certainly shouldn't have resulted in the explosion that had been observed.

The only possibility was that the dark magic on the jar had degraded, but that some other part of it had not diminished completely and had somehow allowed the dark magic to re-energise itself using the power of Daphne's poorly aimed stunning charm. The problem with that was that whatever was still somehow keeping that magic alive couldn't be too far away, and would have to be part of the collection. Unless Geomann was lying, and Harry did not think he was as he was the kind of man to take his job very seriously, that was also impossible. Everything had been checked, after-all. Not just the jar.

Harry snapped his fingers, conjuring a ghostly image of the jar that was proving to be such a headache. "Is there anything else you know about this piece specifically?" he asked. He needed more to work on.

"I admit, I wasn't much interested in it," said Geomann, having the good grace to look a little contrite. "It was just a rather boring looking muggle burial urn. We've just received the skull of Drudwyn from the dig at what we think is the site of Caer Wyddno, did you see? The hound that hunted down Trwyth the Great Boar! I was a little distracted by the thought of it, to tell you the truth. I still checked the collection properly though, mind."

Harry really didn't much care about hounds or boars. "Then who should I talk to if I want to find out more about the urn?"

"The muggle curator for the Greek Bronze Age, I assume," said Geomann. Despite his title as 'assistant curator', he was in no way subservient to the museum's muggle curators, who didn't even know that they were sharing their exhibition spaces.

"And where can I find him?"

"The muggle staff have offices on the upper floors," he said. "I'm sure I don't know exactly where. I never have call to talk to them."

It would be easier to simply present himself under his muggle credentials at the reception, Harry decided. "Your help is much appreciated."

"Do feel free to come around whenever you have time," said Geomann with a genial nod. "I do hope young Daphne isn't in too much trouble as a result of the whole affair. I've always found her to be a very bright young lady. Her knowledge of the collection here is really rather impressive for a lay-person."

Harry pushed himself to his feet, and paused before turning to leave. "Daphne suggested that the sword that the thieves were meant to be after was fake."

"I did notice that," said Geomann thoughtfully. "In all honesty, I didn't think it was all that important. It was obvious enough that I have no doubt the museum's curators should have noticed it themselves. I confess, I assumed it was some marketing stunt or other."

That was certainly a possibility. Another was that it had been bait for the thieves, but Harry couldn't really see the point in that. From what he'd gathered, they were just grunts. Nothing more or less than that. He hummed in thought before bidding Geomann goodbye, and absent-mindedly made his way back across the cavernous room to the door through which he'd entered.

By every measure so far, things were completely normal. The only fly in the ointment was that trace of dark magic which was really starting to nag at him. How had that come to be on the urn? Perhaps the muggle curators would be able to shine some kind of light on that particular mystery, even if they'd never know it.

He soon reached the reception desk, and pulled out his muggle I.D. badge. "Excuse me," he said, getting the attention of an older brunette lady with short-cropped hair and half-moon spectacles. "Hello, I need to speak with the curator for the Greek Bronze Age. I'm sorry for not calling ahead."

"Oh my, well yes of course, sir," she said, peering up at him. When she saw the I.D. badge her eyes widened fractionally, and she reached over immediately to pick up the phone that was on her desk. "Please, would you give me a second?"

After a couple of false starts where she nearly dropped the hand-set, she was able to ring someone else. She quickly explained the situation, and hung up without saying goodbye.

"Someone will be down in a minute," she said, before pointing to a chair against the wall beside the reception desk. "If you'd like to take a seat? I'll direct them to you when they arrive."

"Thank you," said Harry with a nod. He strolled over towards the bench, which turned out to be deceptively uncomfortable. As the wait wasn't meant to be too long, he decided to forgo the usual cushioning charms.

As he waited, he contented himself with watching the comings and goings of the muggles entering the museum. They were all very ordinary. More young men than was perhaps usual at the museum —the hero-hunters— but otherwise it was the very image of muggle mundanity.

He'd only been waiting a couple of minutes, when a woman he thought he vaguely recognised walked into the foyer, and made a beeline for the reception desk. She was tall, with dark hair that fell past her shoulders in the kind of languid waves that Harry knew took a long time for muggles to achieve. She was dressed professionally in a slim, maroon dress of fairly conservative style with long sleeves that reached all the way to her wrists. Unsurprisingly, she drew more than a few glances from the other people in the room. Judging by the way she was dressed, Harry reckoned she was probably associated with the museum.

She walked up to the desk, and started speaking with the same receptionist that Harry had been talking to. After a few moments, the receptionist pointed the woman over in the direction of where Harry was sitting. She smiled an open, grateful smile at the receptionist, and started making her way over to him.

As she approached, Harry noticed she wasn't wearing any jewellery, nor was she wearing high-heels. He approved of the practicality.

Assuming she was either the curator, or the one sent to bring him to the curator, Harry rose from his seat. "Are you the curator for the Greek Bronze Age?" he asked as he extended his hand to her.

It was not her who responded. Instead, someone nearby coughed politely. "Actually, that would be me."

The speaker was an old man with a deeply wrinkled face, and deep-set, sharp eyes that lingered on the unknown woman. His voice had the tell-tale rasp of a man who'd spent much of his life smoking, but as Harry inspected him, he detected no smell of smoke. Recently quit, perhaps? He'd materialised from a small, partially concealed door not far from where Harry had been sitting that he'd assumed was likely to be a cupboard or supply closet. When Harry glanced over towards the woman, he found her smiling warmly.

"It is an honour to meet you, Sir Thomas," said the woman in a lightly accented voice that Harry found a little hard to place. Greek, perhaps?

Sir Thomas leaned down to kiss the back of her hand with a theatrical flourish. "The honour is all mine, I assure you, Miss Prince."

He then turned to Harry, and shook his hand much more solemnly. "Mr. Potter," he said by way of a greeting. "I am Thomas Hargreaves, Curator for the Greek Bronze Age Collection."

"Thank you for coming down to meet me, Sir Thomas," said Harry politely. "I hope I don't take up too much of your time."

"Nonsense!" said Sir Thomas immediately. "That rotten affair last night could have been so much worse if Superman had not turned up. I am merely happy to see Her Majesty's government is taking it as seriously as it is."

Harry then greeted Miss Prince, shaking her by the hand too. "I'm sorry about the misunderstanding. Do you mind if I ask what brings you to the museum today?"

"Not at all," she said amicably. "I was speaking to Julia —that is, Julia Steingrove, the Curator for Ancient Greek Sculpture— and she told me about one of the artefacts which had been turned up in the Katopodis Collection. I couldn't resist the urge to see it for myself. If you need privacy, however, I am happy to remain here."

"Miss Prince comes extremely highly recommended," said Sir Thomas, clearly eager to have her join them. "I believe she has provided invaluable insights into a number of works of Greek sculpture and art in numerous museums." He turned to her before continuing. "I must congratulate you on your work to restore the Winged Victory. Truly magnificent."

She smiled and inclined her head to Sir Thomas, but remained quiet, her intelligent eyes still on Harry.

"Well, I guess two experts are better than one," said Harry after giving it a moment's thought. He followed as Sir Thomas led the way to a partially concealed door. "I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about the collection? Some irregularities have cropped up in the course of the investigation so far."

"Yes, I rather imagine they have," said Sir Thomas ruefully. He pulled the door open, and performed a half bow towards Miss Prince. "Please, ladies first."

As she walked through the door, and was followed closely by Sir Thomas who at least had the good manners to hold the door for Harry, he reflected that it wouldn't be at all surprising if she had to deal with behaviour like that on a semi-regular basis. Harry had seen the attempts often enough around both Fleur and Gabrielle. Though, there as well, the attempts more often than not fell flat.

"What did you mean by that?" Harry asked as he fell back into step behind his two companions as Sir Thomas led them both through a series of maze-like corridors. "You know that the sword is not genuine?"

"Well, of course he must," said Miss Prince firmly. "It is so obviously a forgery that I am surprised it is not already common knowledge. The blade was perhaps an original, but the hilt cannot be more than a few hundred years old."

"Indeed," said Sir Thomas as he shook his head. "Within academic circles, it is well known that the sword is a particularly unconvincing forgery. Sadly, the owner is not a member of those circles, and refuses to accept any discussion on the matter. If we wished to display the rest of the collection, he stipulated that we had to display the whole collection. It was all really rather tiresome."

"But you displayed it in pride of place," said Harry. He was amazed that they were so willing to be complicit in passing the forgery off as real to the public.

"Mr. Katopodis again, I'm afraid," said Sir Thomas, as he led them down another seemingly identical corridor. "He stipulated that the sword should be treated as the centrepiece of the collection, and would hear no arguments to the contrary. All we were able to do was place a note on the information plaque that said the veracity of the sword was contested. It took quite some convincing on our part, I understand, to get even that concession. In truth, I suspect it was only Mr. Luthor's continued insistence that caused Mr. Katopodis to acquiesce to our requests on that topic. It was most certainly worth the effort, however!"

"I was actually hoping to ask you about a different item in the collection," said Miss Prince and, despite her opting to change the subject, Harry could see that something Sir Thomas had said had piqued her interest. "The unidentified urn, item 34 in the collection?"

"Ah, yes, a most curious piece," said Sir Thomas much more enthusiastically now that they were off the thorny topic of the Museum's academic impropriety. "Found among the burial effects of a Spartan man dated to around 740 BCE."

Harry elected to stay quiet and let the experts discuss the urn.

"Yet the styling is much older," said Miss Prince. "I have seen only pictures, but it looks to me to be protogeometric period."

"That is not even the half of it," said Sir Thomas, suddenly turning to lead them down a side-corridor. "Come, it is something you must see for yourself, I think."

Surprisingly, it was only a short walk before Sir Thomas led them through a door into a larger room. The various pieces of the collection Harry had seen the night before had all been moved there, cases and all. The jar in question was conveniently close to the door, and easy enough to reach without any of the other artefacts having to be moved out of the way.

"So, if the urn is so old compared to the rest of the collection, how did it get to be here?" Harry asked. He wasn't especially interested in the historical importance of the find, but he did need to know how it had come to be in a muggle collection.

"Well, as I said, it was found in an excavation upon the banks of the Eurotas River perhaps, oh, 60 years ago?" said Sir Thomas after a little thought. "It was the tomb of an unnamed Spartan man. There was very little there, but the urn and a few coins and bones survived."

"That is not unusual," said Diana, her gaze flicking across to Harry as she explained. "Spartan burial was not lavish, and most were committed to the earth without even a marker. The true heroes of Sparta might have a cenotaph erected in their honour, but even they did not typically receive tombs."

"There has been some speculation that the tomb was, in fact, originally constructed as a cenotaph, and that it was merely repurposed as a tomb much later," said Sir Thomas. "As you can imagine, incongruities such as this are most exciting. Nothing can shake up a field quite like a find which does not conform to our expectations."

While Sir Thomas was talking, Miss Prince had been inspecting the urn much more closely. "By Hera," she said with a gasp. "This isn't Greek, it's Minoan."

"Indeed!" said Sir Thomas, every bit as excited as she was. "And possibly the latest example of Linear A script yet found, and in conjunction with the Minoan styling too."

"I am not so sure," she said after a brief moment's thought. "It looks to me as if this piece is significantly older than the date of the burial. Has it been independently dated?"

"Sadly, no." Sir Thomas shook his head, but he looked intrigued by the idea. "Mr. Katopodis has never given permission for it, as I'm sure you can imagine. Even if he did, I would be most hesitant to damage such a potentially important piece."

"Sorry to have to ask, but can you explain what that means, for someone without much knowledge of ancient Greece?" Harry asked. Anything potentially anomalous was worth investigating.

"Of course," said Miss Prince, without even the slightest hint of impatience or condescension. "Put simply, before the commonly known ancient Greek period, the one with Plato, Socrates and most of the other names I'm sure you know, there were other civilisations which inhabited the Aegean. One of the earliest was the Minoan civilisation from Crete, which then gave way to the Mycenaeans, until they too fell. The Linear A was the main script of the Minoans, and has never been deciphered by Man's science."

'Man's science' was a slightly strange way of putting it. Perhaps it was some language difference? "So this urn came from an earlier time than the rest of the collection. What does that mean?"

"I am not sure," said Miss Prince, once more taking a close look at the urn. "It was originally Minoan, I am sure of it, but at some point it was redecorated in the style of a much later period. There has to be more than 500 years between the two periods."

Perhaps Sir Thomas had been feeling left out, as he interrupted her thoughts, "That level of continuity between the Minoan, Mycenaean, possibly even into the early period of Archaic Greece is unheard of."

"What about this," said Miss Prince, pointing at some feature around the lip of the urn that Harry was unable to identify. "It looks distinctly Egyptian, perhaps Third Dynasty?"

Sir Thomas needed little encouragement to shuffle closer to her as he peered into the case at whatever it was she was identifying. "My word, I think it could be. This really is the jewel of the collection."

"Is there anything specific you can decipher on it?" Harry asked, hoping for something more useful than a general pronouncement that the urn was strange.

"Surely not," said Sir Thomas, speaking as if Harry was a particularly dense child. "Did you not understand when we told you that the script had never been deciphered?"

"There is something," said Miss Prince, seemingly ignoring Sir Thomas completely. "I think this here is a reference to a name. Perhaps the owner, or craftsman? 'The Serpent'."

"My word!" said Sir Thomas, his head whipping around to stare at Miss Prince openly. "How on earth did you come to that conclusion?"

For the first time, the woman looked something less than completely composed under his gaze, though it was still far from obvious. "It has been postulated that Linear A follows many of the same grammatical rules as Linear B, though it expresses a completely different language. This ideogram would mean 'owner', or 'creator' if it was Linear B. As to the name itself, I admit I have extrapolated from possible pronunciation to achieve a translation."

"I do believe you might be onto something, my dear!" said Sir Thomas, raising his voice in his excitement. "I can certainly see why my colleagues speak so highly of your intuition in this kind of matter. I think we should talk over a potential paper on this subject, it would surely be the insight of the decade. Perhaps we should discuss it over dinner later?"

Harry had to give the old man credit, in the face of a woman for whom the expression 'sculpted by the gods' seemed almost unreasonably fitting, he wasn't losing sight of his game at all. Sadly for him, it seemed she wasn't going to be biting any time soon.

"That is very gracious of you," she said in response. Her demeanour gave no hint of whether she'd seen through his offer. "I am afraid I must decline. I have a previous engagement this evening, and will not be remaining in London. If you do decide to publish, there is really no need to credit me. It was a simple observation which I am sure you would have made had you not been so busy with the rest of the exhibition."

"Well, yes, of course," said Sir Thomas as he looked split between grateful and dispirited. "You are too kind, madam."

Harry cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the two academics back to himself. "I think I have everything I need," he said. "Do you mind if we get in touch with your office for Mr." —he quickly checked his notes— "Katopodis' contact details?"

"Not at all," said Sir Thomas. "If there is anything else we can do to help, please do contact my office and we shall do what we can to accommodate you."

"I think that will be my cue to leave also," said Miss Prince, taking a step back from the case holding the urn. "Thank you for allowing me to see this, Sir Thomas. It truly is an incredible find. Do give my regards to Julia, would you?"

"Say nothing of it, my dear," said Sir Thomas, sounding more than a little disappointed. After a moment, he perked up a little. "Shall I walk you both back down to the public sections of the Museum? I can give you a bit of a tour of some of our restoration spaces."

Harry was about to point out that he had no interest in that, though obviously Sir Thomas knew that even before suggesting it. He was beaten to the punch by Miss Prince.

"Another time, perhaps," she said with a charming smile that probably did little to soften the blow. "I am sure Mr. Potter and myself will be able to find our own way back, and he can keep an eye on me to ensure I do not stray."

"Oh, well, I suppose that's acceptable," said Sir Thomas, deflating some more. "I do look forward to seeing you again, I think you would greatly enjoy that tour. Perhaps we could even find a more permanent position for you."

"I have no doubt the tour would be fascinating," said Miss Prince before turning to Harry. "Shall we go?"

Harry had originally been intending to find a quiet corner to disapparate back to the Ministry, but something in the look she was shooting at him had him agreeing. "Sure," he said.

They walked in silence for a while before Miss Prince spoke again. "Perhaps you surmised this, but I wished to speak with you about the urn away from Sir Thomas."

Not at all surprised, Harry said nothing, but confirmed her suspicions with a slight tilt of his head.

"He is a well regarded scholar," said Miss Prince, and there was not a hint of anything beyond honest respect, "but I believe there may be something about the urn which may be of interest to you, and which Sir Thomas would discard out-of-hand. I did not wish to say it in front of him, but I believe that the urn may be cursed."

That was not what he'd been expecting, and he couldn't help but glance across at her. "I assume you saw something that led you to that conclusion?"

"It is part of the geometric pattern being used," she answered. "Whoever painted over the old styling believed that it was cursed, and that their work would contain it."

"So, not really cursed, then?" Harry asked. The dark magic he'd seen on the urn certainly suggested that the artist had indeed been right about the curse. It didn't really help him identify the purpose of the curse, however. "Is there any indication as to the nature of the curse?"

"You seem remarkably open minded about this," Miss Prince said as she looked across at him, expression curious.

"I often find it is best to keep an open mind. Whether curses exist or not, I am certain that many criminals believe in them, and really that's all that matters. What about you?" he asked. "I doubt belief in curses like that is widespread in your line of work. Why mention it?"

"I merely agree with you that it is best to keep an open mind," she said as she shrugged elegantly. "Perhaps curses do exist, or perhaps they do not. What is certain, is that ancient cultures believed in them, and it is my belief that there is much truth that can be found hidden behind myth and superstition. A friend of mine works as a detective, and he once told me that criminals, too, are often very superstitious. If they somehow came to believe that the urn was indeed cursed, then perhaps they thought they might be able to turn that to their own benefit?

"As to the curse itself, I am not entirely sure. Something to do with dark spirits, perhaps? The later inscriptions make clear that whatever it was, they believed it was truly vile."

By that point, they had arrived back at the door through which Sir Thomas had fetched them. Harry stopped and turned to Miss Prince as he reflected for a moment on what she'd said. The thought that the criminals might have known about the curse was a little worrying. Perhaps he needed to take another look at Daphne's story.

"Thank you for the information, Miss Prince," he said as she pulled the door open to leave. He really did mean it; she'd been much more helpful that Sir Thomas. "I hope you enjoy your engagement this evening."

"Thank you as well, for giving me a much needed escape route," she said with a wan smile. "Please, should we ever cross paths again, call me Diana."

Harry extended his hand, and she took it in a firm grip. "Harry," he said simply.

With a final brilliant smile, she shook his hand. She then stepped through the open door and was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Diana fucking Prince. Harry slapped the very thin folder down onto his desk in disgust, the first page slid out slightly, revealing a rather distant and unhelpful picture of the woman in question. For some reason, the person who'd made up the folder had felt that it was much more important that anyone who read it was able to identify Wonder Woman from her figure and costume, rather than from her face.

If he was being honest with himself, it wasn't any kind of real problem that he hadn't recognised her at the time. It wasn't like he had any pressing questions to ask Wonder Woman that he couldn't ask Zatanna, but it was a bit embarrassing. It also raised a new question: why was Wonder Woman, of all people, sniffing around a magical artefact of dubious origin?

He sat down at his desk and opened the folder, sliding the wayward page back into place. Besides the image, it contained very little useful information.

The only known alias it gave was 'Diana, Princess of Themyscira', and spent most of its time discussing the historical and mythological background of the Amazons. It was only on the last page that he found anything that he might actually consider useful, and most of it he already knew. He might not be quite as aware of the muggle world as some, but even he knew she had a set of powers very similar to Superman.

Really, in the whole thing there was only one useful piece of information that Harry had not already known: She had some form of magical resistance, though the extent of it was pretty much unknown.

The report then concluded that, of all the members of the so-called 'Justice League', she probably represented the most significant threat to witches and wizards due to the possible danger presented by her unmeasured magic resistance.

Harry remembered that particular meeting. He, along with a few department heads, had been invited along to keep them abreast of the developing situation. A bunch of muggles in capes was hardly the concern of the auror office, after-all, and so the access he'd had up to that point had been limited to what he could wheedle out of people at the pub.

It had been a bit like a game of top trumps, only they weren't arguing over height, or nostril diameter, but the potentially world-altering suite of powers possessed by each of the 'heroes' under investigation. The specially drafted team of witches and wizards who had compiled their reports on the more prominent heroes had all just about come to wands over who represented the biggest threat. Batman had ended up at the bottom of the pile, despite his greater knowledge of the magical world. He was, in the end, a mortal muggle man and witches and wizards had been dealing with muggles for as long as there had _been_ witches and wizards.

So long as you didn't let him get close enough to punch you in the face, a lesson Harry had learned himself rather painfully, the man was judged to be mostly harmless. Superman was far more dangerous because his incredible speed meant that it was almost impossible to stop him from doing just that. The only thing stopping him from pushing his fist through the back of someone's skull was his own moral code. He, however, was not without his achilles heels. Kryptonite was an unusual mineral, but one it was believed could be conjured or transfigured with practice, and he was as susceptible to magic as Batman.

Then there was the likes of Green Lantern or the Flash, who'd both only appeared on the scene very recently, and were largely unknown. Green Lantern's powers were worryingly similar to magic, but the man underneath seemed to be a fairly ordinary human. The Flash was fast and durable to go with it, but there was surely a limit to what speed alone could achieve.

Wonder Woman was different. She had been trained as a warrior, and those instincts ran deep. In a real fight, if lives were on the line, the general thinking was that she would not hesitate to kill. Batman would hesitate, so would Superman. She wouldn't, and that set her apart. Add to that her innate resistance to magic, and complete lack of other known weaknesses?

To say the wizarding governments of the world were concerned would be an understatement.

From Harry's perspective, none of that really mattered. It wouldn't start mattering unless she started using those powers for the wrong reasons. Until that day, Harry had resolved not to worry too much about it. After-all, some people regarded him to be similarly dangerous. She was powerful, not invincible, and he had confidence in the ability of his aurors to take her down if the need arose. No, the important thing at the moment was her age.

In all likelihood, she was being completely truthful in her assessment of the artefact. She was a woman who apparently valued the truth above almost anything else, and spoke Ancient Greek as her first language. If there was anyone on the planet with the necessary knowledge to make a real assessment of the urn, it was her.

He pushed his chair back and rose once more to his feet. He crossed the short distance to his door in a couple of easy steps, and pulled it open.

"Padma, you got a minute?" he said to his assistant.

She looked up from whatever it was she was reading. "Depends, are you still pissed about whatever happened at the museum?"

Feeling a little sheepish, Harry shrugged. "Ran into Wonder Woman at the museum, didn't realise it was her until she said goodbye."

"What was she doing there?" she said, frowning. Harry was grateful that the mystery of her presence was a more immediate concern than needling Harry on his oversight.

Harry cocked his head to the side a moment and withdrew back into his office. A moment later she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

"I think she was investigating the urn," said Harry, wasting no time.

"Really, why?" Padma asked. "I didn't think it really had anything to do with the attempted theft."

"Not sure what she was after precisely," Harry admitted. He was still kicking himself for that, but what was he going to do? As far as he was concerned at the time she'd merely been an interested academic. "But she was very interested in the historical period it was from."

There was a pause, before Padma sighed and twirled her hand in a universal gesture for 'well? get on with it'.

Harry winked at her, happy to have gotten under her skin, even if it was just a little. He couldn't let her keep scoring all the points. "Apparently the urn itself is Minoan, with some Egyptian influence, but was restyled hundreds of years later, and the inscriptions on it were scrubbed out. She reckoned it belonged to some guy called 'The Serpent' before it was stolen, maybe?"

"The name doesn't ring a bell," said Padma, looking thoughtful. "But then again, why would we expect to have heard of some random dark wizard from that far back?"

"Yeah, but I figure we should pass it around, see if anyone comes up with anything that might be helpful," said Harry. He wasn't expecting much, but the whole point of having departments filled with researchers and other forms of similarly useless geek was so that they could come up with the things that people like he and Padma missed. "She also backed up what the unspeakable report said about the magic. Apparently the urn itself had some kind of Egyptian influences."

He paused, trying to remember what it was he'd missed. "Oh, yeah, and apparently the ancient Greeks thought it was cursed too. Something to do with trapping dark spirits, she said."

"That doesn't sound good," said Padma.

"The magic broke down years ago," Harry pointed out. "Whatever it may or may not have been containing was let loose long before we were even born. I doubt it would want to hang around once the binding spells faded. It was probably just the remnants of some old protection that was put on it that reacted with Daphne's stunning charm."

"We should still have the unspeakables look over the new information," said Padma. She looked like she was thinking over what Harry had just said. After a moment she seemed to come to the same conclusion he had. "It's probably nothing, but I still don't feel too happy about something like that kicking around in the muggle world for so long."

Harry nodded, accepting her caution as reasonable. "Is there anything else that's come in?"

"Nothing," said Padma as she turned to head back out the door. "Quigley came back in about thirty seconds flat with his tail between his legs. Way I hear it, he was hit with a double helping of Greengrass with a chaser of Rowle before he'd even knocked on their door."

"So Malfoy's got his wizzwhig on it then," he said more to himself than to Padma. "I'm actually surprised it took him that long."

"If you ask me, I think he's probably peeved that Daphne keeps costing him so much money," said Padma before grinning. "Maybe he thought it would do her good to spend the night in our lockup?"

"If he did, I wouldn't be surprised if Scorpius ends up being an only child," said Harry. He found he liked the thought of that. "Hard for him to sire children if Astoria has 'accidentally' hit him with a castration curse."

"I doubt it was as bad as all that," said Padma blandly. "Nothing irreversible, at least. That way it's not our problem."

"Hmm." More's the pity. "Well, in that case, if there's nothing else to follow-up, I suppose I should call it a day," he said, taking care not to look at the small mountain of paperwork that had accumulated.

Padma nodded, it was indeed getting towards the time when most sane people would be thinking about heading home. Harry knew that she'd probably stay another few hours, but that was just how Padma was. He was convinced that she occasionally spent the entire night at the Ministry.

"If anything urgent comes up, I'll make sure to pass it on," she said before making once more for the door.

She hadn't even reached it when there was a rapid knocking that managed to shake it on its hinges.

"What is it?" said Padma as she pulled the door open to reveal Quigley beyond.

He was the youngest auror in the force, and as a result frequently ended up as the messenger boy. His blue eyes were wide, and his breathing shallow, which definitely wasn't a good sign.

"Mr. Rowle is—" he was cut off by a much larger figure pushing past him into the office.

Harry immediately recognised Theonikas Rowle, wizzwhig to the Malfoys and a few other well-to-do families. An older man, he still struck an unmistakable figure. Over six foot tall, with broad shoulders and a chin that could be used to carve granite, he wore a set of black robes that left even a casual observer in no doubt when it came to their cost. He then topped the image of wizarding refinement off with a shoddy straw-coloured wig that perched on the top of his head like a cherry atop a cake.

Wizzwhigs had seemed a strange concept to Harry, who'd managed to make it through his entire schooling without being made aware of them. The way he understood it, back in the days of the old Wizard's Council, laws had tended to be very… fluid. Legality had all been about the ability to argue a point in a convincing way, with ample reference to previous historic cases. That had suited the old established families, who often handled their own education on such matters internally. They had even gone so far as to pass a resolution that called upon every adult witch or wizard to represent him- or herself in all petitions to the council.

At the time, that resolution had been intended to ensure the better educated old families had a leg up on any others, but after a while, it grew tiresome and so some of them had started up the practice of hiring professionals to impersonate them. The way Harry understood it, Polyjuice had been developed for exactly that purpose, and it soon became extremely widespread among the older families.

So much so, in fact, that eventually even the need to use Polyjuice had died out. Instead, the representative had taken to simply wearing wigs in the colour of their employers hair. Often, the worse the wig, the richer the wizard. Malfoy's wizzwhig had an absolutely terrible wig, of course.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Rowle?" Harry asked, evenly. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction of a reaction.

Rather than rise to meet the man who had barged into his office, Harry instead put his feet up and leaned back in his chair. He caught Padma's eye, and jerked his head towards where Quigley was still standing, seemingly horror-struck.

She immediately caught his meaning, and grabbed Quigley before ushering him out of the door, which she then closed behind her with a quiet click.

"You know you do not have the authority to hold my doppel's sister-in-law," said Rowle. As he spoke he pulled out his wand and conjured a chair, rather than sitting in the uncomfortable one opposite Harry's desk. "Are you _looking_ to have the Ministry pay for Miss Greengrass' next 'flutter' on the Abraxans?"

"I think you'll find we released her as soon as we were able to ascertain her innocence of the crime of dark magic use in the presence of muggles," said Harry. "It's unfortunate that our spell sniffers don't work over-night, but that's just how it is."

"Don't be obtuse with me, boy," said Rowle, his voice a low growl that Harry knew to be entirely feigned. Rowle hadn't gotten to be a wizzwhig to the likes of Malfoy by letting his emotions get the better of him like that. "I know you've brought her back in for questioning."

Harry frowned. What the? "What are you talking about?"

"She was snatched from her apparation," said Rowle. "That is an auror spell, and you know it."

"Well, it is, but I gave no command to bring her back in," said Harry. He swung his legs off the desk and leaned forward in his seat. "Are you saying Daphne has been kidnapped?"

"No, I am saying that you, Mr. Potter, are wasting my time," said Rowle. "Do not try and deflect the blame elsewhere. We both know you've been investigating her story."

"I guess we do know that," said Harry evenly, "but apparently only one of us knows that her story mostly checked out. We had no reason to bring her back in." Not yet, anyway.

"Then why send one of your aurors to check up on her at her own home?"

"He was there to ask Mrs. Malfoy to corroborate Daphne's story." He looked into Rowle's dark eyes, but couldn't see anything there. Beneath the act, the man was about as emotive as a brick wall. "He wasn't there to check up on her, or anything of the sort."

There was a long pause as Rowle decided whether to believe Harry or not, but eventually his posture changed just slightly. "In that case, I believe I must report that Daphne Greengrass appears to have gone missing."

Finally. "You said she was snatched out of her apparation?"

"That is what we assumed," said Rowle. "Miss Greengrass was apparating alongside her sister and her husband. They departed at the same time, but only Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy arrived at their destination."

That explanation sounded pretty thin on both details and proof. "So it's entirely possible that she decided to do a runner, then? Seems convenient."

"You know as well as I that she had no need to run," said Rowle in a tone of voice that was just short of open condescension. "Or am I mistaken?"

Harry smiled humourlessly. "Perhaps you are," he said, deciding to deliberately misinterpret the man's meaning. "After all, I hear she has a number of outstanding debts to the goblins, and they can get pretty impolite about that kind of thing, so I'm told. Maybe she saw a chance to throw off her pursuit? If only for a little while."

"Any dealings Miss Greengrass may have with the Goblins are not the province of your office, Mr. Potter," said Rowle. He rose to his full substantial height, and vanished his chair with an idle flick of his wand.

"Neither is a disappearance." Harry didn't stand, and instead simply leaned back in his chair again. He started tracing glowing shapes in the air with his fingers in an almost absent-minded way. If Rowle was going to try and intimidate him, he'd have a hard time. "Unless you're suggesting that she's a dark witch, that is?" He didn't wait for a response before continuing, "I thought not. You want to talk to the witch watchers, then."

"I would have thought you would be more considerate towards Miss Greengrass's family," said Rowle, who leaned forward, his large hands planted on Harry's desk. "Especially after the unfortunate circumstances surrounding Mr. Longbottom."

Harry stopped tracing shapes, and they slowly dissolved into nothing. His narrowed eyes met Rowle's, and he could see the satisfaction in them. Despite his urge to fight back, he broke the staring contest. That Rowle was willing to go _there_ suggested a level of concern that Harry had not expected from the man. "This really has you that worried?" he asked eventually.

"I inspected the apparation signature myself," said Rowle, actually deflating a little. "She did not travel anywhere else."

With a glance up at his office clock, Harry made his decision. "Look, it's time for me to clock out anyway. It's not my department, but I can take a quick look. Off the books."

His sudden change in attitude seemingly caught Rowle off-guard, as he was silent for a few seconds before collecting himself. "Very well. They were apparating to attend a dinner at The Hollow. Are you aware of it?"

"I am," said Harry, taking care to hide his grimace. He'd been there once before, and it hadn't been an altogether enjoyable experience. Although, in all fairness to The Hollow, it had not been the fault of the restaurant itself. "Let me finish up here, and I will be along as soon as possible."

Rowle then turned and made for the door. When he reached it, he pulled it open before turning back. "Thank you, Mr. Potter, for your time."

An impatient wave of Harry's hand was all the response he got, but it seemed he was satisfied with it. As satisfied as Rowle ever looked, anyway. He pulled the door closed behind him, disappearing back into the Ministry.

Harry closed his eyes and swore quietly. He'd had the creeping feeling that there was another shoe to drop, and he got the distinct feeling it had just been released from a great height. Who knew where it was going to fall, and how much damage it might be able to do when it landed?

He hopped quickly to his feet and finished tidying away the papers that were strewn across his desk. His filing system for such things was largely non-existent and could be summarized as 'dump it in heaps until Padma's patience wore out and she spent a day organising it', so it was a fairly quick task.

With that task done, he bid Padma a good night, which she returned by way of an inelegant grunt. It was the common response when she was deeply engrossed in some report or other. She probably wouldn't actually realise he was gone for another half-hour or so at least. That half hour would serve to make good his escape, as he had no doubt she was going to be annoyed with him over the state of his desk once again.

When he reached an apparation point in the middle of the auror office, he spun on his heel and disapparated with a quiet pop.

The Hollow was one of the few purely wizarding restaurants in Britain. It was set in a shallow dale in the middle of a forest somewhere in Snowdonia. From what Harry understood, it survived entirely on a clientele that was composed almost entirely of well-to-to purebloods. Well, that and the occasional hapless young man intending to propose to their partner and who also wanted to avoid the potential dangers of actually employing some form of imagination. If only he had known that, Harry reflected, maybe his single memory of the place would have been a bit more pleasant.

It turns out bringing your girlfriend to a place like The Hollow, after she's spent months complaining about you being distant and consumed by work, only to announce your promotion to Senior Auror was a bit of a faux-pas. That had been the sad end of the 'epic' romance of Harry and Ginny.

A tiny little house elf greeted him almost before he was even aware of having arrived. Perhaps only half the size of a normal elf, she greeted him in a voice so squeaky he was surprised the place wasn't overrun by excitable dogs. "Good evenings, Mr. Potter," she said, bouncing up and down on her toes with barely contained excitement which Harry knew she displayed for every customer. "I is being Pipsim. It is good to be seeing you again. Would you be liking a table?"

"Actually, no, thank you, Pipsim," said Harry, casting his gaze about the clearing until he caught sight of an unmistakable head of blond hair. From where he was standing he was able to see the empty place setting that had surely been intended for Daphne. An idea occurred to him. "I'm here to meet an old friend. I see he's kept a seat for me, so if you don't mind, I'll just go right over and join them."

"Of courses, sir," said the diminutive elf. "I hope you will be enjoying your evening."

With a polite nod to Pipsim, who seemed content to allow him to find his own way, he made a bee-line towards the Malfoys. As he crossed the room, weaving carefully between diners, and studiously ignoring the increasing number of stares that were still a lamentably common occurrence when he was out in public, Harry saw Astoria notice him.

It was not hard to see the similarities between Daphne and Astoria. Daphne was slightly shorter, wore her hair a little longer, and had somewhat sharper features, but almost everything else was the same. They might even look more similar than Padma and her sister Parvati, and they were actual twins.

As Harry neared, Astoria caught her husband's eye and, with a subtle gesture, directed his attention in Harry's direction. Draco Malfoy turned in his seat, and his eyes widened just slightly when he realised it was Harry coming towards him. His eyes flickered across the room, but if he was looking for an escape route, or merely trying to assess the potential ramifications of having a loud argument with Harry Potter in a crowded restaurant, Harry could not tell.

Harry didn't speak until he'd reached the table. He'd said he was going to investigate Daphne's supposed disappearance, but he hadn't said he wouldn't also mess with Malfoy a bit. He pulled out the seat that had surely been meant for Daphne, and sat down without a word. He plucked the wine-list from the middle of the table and started to peruse it, though he kept half an eye on Malfoy as he did so.

"Potter," said Malfoy in a strained voice.

Glancing up from the wine-list with a bland smile on his face, Harry said pleasantly: "Draco! Thank you so much for the invitation. I'm sorry Daphne was unable to make it." He noted the number of surreptitious ears turned in their direction. "I do hope it doesn't have anything to do with your _little problem_."

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, but was beaten to the punch by Astoria. "What have you done with my sister?"

"Wherever your sister has gone, we had nothing to do with it," said Harry evenly. He then picked up the wine-glass and said, "1811 Château d'Yquem." It was the most expensive wine on the menu, and claimed to be from the original vintage, and had never been duplicated or engorged through magic. That all sounded very impressive to Harry, though he'd be the first to admit that he knew nothing about wine.

Moments later his glass was filled with the wine, and he took a quick swig, much to Malfoy's horror. "Have you any idea what that costs?" he asked distantly, sounding curse-shocked.

Harry made a show of glancing down at the wine list before shrugging. "Seems like a bit of a rip-off really, but since you invited me, I thought it best I try to blend in."

"Enough games," said Astoria as she deftly plucked the glass from Harry's hand before he could protest. "Where is my sister?"

Messing with Malfoy was always a good time, but he did have a job to do. "That's what I'm here to find out," he replied honestly. "Wherever she is, we didn't take her there. What can you tell me about her disappearance?"

Malfoy finally seemed to find his voice again. "See here, Potter—"

"Hush, Draco. It's only money, and if that's what it takes for him to help find Daphne, it's well worth it," said Astoria, her tone brooking no argument.

"A bloody lot of money," Malfoy muttered, before being cut off again by a pointed look from his wife.

"Well, you do insist on playing this game of yours," said Astoria, taking a dainty sip from Harry's glass almost as an afterthought. "Oh, that _is_ good. What was it you did last month? That story in the Prophet about Mr. Potter and the Delacour girl? I did tell you he'd find out."

Harry had not found out that he had Malfoy to blame for that particular piece of journalistic drivel, but he managed to avoid giving that fact away. Fortunately, it had ended up backfiring, as most people had apparently been very supportive of his and Gabrielle's entirely fictitious romantic tryst.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Harry, taking care to level a significant look at Malfoy as he did so. He looked down at his empty plate and said clearly. "Penglai Mooncalf steak."

It took a few seconds for the incredibly expensive dish to appear, and while he waited, Harry glanced at Astoria. "So, the disappearance?"

"There isn't much to tell," said Astoria, after shooting a quelling look at her husband. "We all departed from Malfoy Manor around a half hour ago, and when we arrived, Daphne did not."

With his dish materialised, Harry picked up his knife and fork and got to work. Just as hoped, he could feel his silent audience watching. "You departed from within the grounds?" He shoved a large cut of the horrendously expensive meat into his mouth. "Hey, this is pretty good," he said appreciatively, around the half-chewed mouth full. Malfoy was certain to be on the receiving end of a few snooty looks over the next few days. That was a definite victory.

"We did," said Astoria, overlooking Harry's intentionally atrocious manners with the kind of aplomb that would surely have gotten her a solid round of applause from the peanut gallery all around them, if that wasn't far too common for the likes of them. "We came here directly from the Fuschia Drawing Room, if you must know. We arrived at the apparation point by the entrance."

"Your wizzwhig said he inspected the apparation signature and that Daphne definitely departed for here," Harry said as he chewed on another large mouthful of food thoughtfully. "What are the chances that she simply apparated on to another location?" Even the thought of trying to inspect the restaurant's apparation point to try and deduce a target for her onward journey gave Harry a headache.

"Theo is, as I'm sure you're aware, very thorough," said Astoria. "However, the chances of Daphne 'pulling a fast one' as I believe you might say, are nill."

"My sister in law may be many things, but you of all people know she is not stupid, Potter," said Malfoy, finally managing to add something of value to the conversation. "Where would she go?"

Harry sat back in his chair and mulled her words over. She seemed very confident that Daphne wasn't trying to do a runner, but people were often certain, right up until they were proved wrong. There was nothing for it, he was going to have to risk a migraine. He looked around and caught Pipsim's eye across the clearing.

An instant later, she'd popped into being right by their table. "How may Pipsim bes of assistance?"

"Any chance I could have a doggy bag?" Harry asked, pointing to his almost untouched plate. Quiet sounds of shocked displeasure rippled outwards through the watchful diners. Harry couldn't restrain his grin. "For my companions too. Seems the evening is still young, and if it goes the way I'm thinking, I suspect we're going to need a good steak soon."


	5. Chapter 5

"What on earth do you mean she didn't leave?"

It was often said that with age came wisdom, and while in Harry's case that might not have been completely true, he had found that he had instead developed a special kind of laziness over the last couple of years which, in poor light, could almost pass for wisdom.

'Delegation' really was a wonderful word. Well, it was wonderful just so long as you didn't care too much about the results.

The spell sniffer assigned to the case had a hunted look on his weaselly face, it was a certain type of weak-chinned young wizard who went into the spell sniffers, and Mustel Nevins was a spell sniffer's spell sniffer, but he nevertheless stood his ground. "Sir, I've looked over every one of the 372 detectable apparations that either arrived here, or departed from here, and I can say with certainty that Daphne Greengrass arrived here, and did not leave again through apparation, teleportation, translocation or portkey."

"What about a broom or carpet?" Carpets were still illegal, but they were also incredibly difficult to police. It was stretching credulity to suggest that even the fastest modern racing broom would be able to get in, pick up Daphne, and get out without being noticed, but it was better than the alternative.

"Definitely not," said Nevins. He cast a spell that Harry recognised, and which caused many ghostly magical explosions in the area to fade into view. "Take a look for yourself."

Harry could instantly see what he was talking about. The remnants left behind by an apparation took the form of small starbursts, surrounded by faint smoke which gradually dissolved into nothingness over the course of a few days.

Every one of the clouds in the clearing was pristine. If it had been real smoke, rather than a magical residuum it would have meant that the entire area hadn't felt so much as a breath of wind. The magic, however, was unbothered by physical winds, but the magic of a broom or carpet would surely have left an obvious path through the clearing, and there was nothing at all.

After questioning Malfoy and his wife, Harry had assumed that Daphne had simply made a run for it. That would have been a weight off Harry's mind; if that was the case he could pass it on to the witch watcher team and be done with it. They might not even have chosen to pursue it as Daphne was an adult, after-all.

It seemed that it was not to be, however.

"So you're saying she walked out somehow?"

"Indeed. It's the only possibility," said Nevins before he paused. "Actually, I suppose it's possible that she skipped, ran or danced out too."

Perhaps he shouldn't have delegated after-all. The world had ways of getting back at those who shirked their responsibilities. One of those ways, apparently, was Mustel Nevins. "What about that little niggling detail where no-one so much as saw her arrive, let alone leave?"

"The magic does not lie." Nevins looked positively affronted by Harry's suggestion. "People, on the other hand, often do."

Harry gave him a flat look that was completely wasted on the man. "I'll bear that in mind," he said. "How long will it take to do an arithmantic reading of her location?"

"Assuming we can get blood from her sister, it would take five or six hours to work out the arithmancy," said Nevins, looking thoughtful. "Toenails or hair would be faster. Maybe four, depending on the specificity of the inquiry?"

Harry looked about until he saw where Malfoy and his wife were talking quietly to Rowle. "Oi, Malfoy!" He waved him over.

He said something inaudible to Rowle who nodded and apparated away before he crossed the small clearing to where Harry and Nevins were standing. "What do you want now, Potter? Haven't we answered enough of your questions already?"

While he had indeed answered plenty of questions while Nevins was inspecting all of the nearby apparation remnants, none of the answers had been entirely helpful. It was quickly becoming apparent that he was right. The other shoe had dropped, and no-one knew where it had come from.

"We need to do an arithmantic reading of Daphne's location, as there's no evidence here that she ever departed from here magically," said Harry.

"So, what, you're saying she was taken by someone on an invisible broom? Or maybe you think she had one of the newest Nimbuses hidden under her dress?"

"No broom." Nevins clearly hadn't heard the derisive note in Malfoy's voice. "There's no—"

Harry cut Nevins off. "I'll let you consider the possible hiding places for that broom, Malfoy." He wasn't going to let a gimme like that pass him by. "We, on the other hand, will need something from Daphne so we can do the arithmantic reading."

"I've already sent Theo back to the Manor to pick up Daphne's hairbrush," said Malfoy, seemingly choosing to ignore Harry's dig completely. Unusual.

Barely had the words crossed his lips when Rowle returned with a crack, hairbrush in hand. "I believe this is what you'll be needing," he said, passing it over to Nevins as he did so.

Seeing Malfoy being so immediately accommodating was strange. Harry hadn't realised just how much of a pushover he could be when his wife was personally involved. He'd have to bear that in mind the next time Malfoy tried to push back against one of Hermione's equality bills. He wasn't quite sure how to use it, but it was a button he hadn't tried pressing until now.

"Let me know as soon as you have an answer for me," said Harry before Nevins could depart. The man nodded in a way that left Harry with the distinct impression he hadn't actually heard him, before apparating away without another word. Harry turned to Malfoy. "Now, before I head back, is there anything else I should know?"

"Look, Potter. I know we don't always see eye-to-eye," said Malfoy, sounding a little tired. It was getting late, so perhaps that was understandable. "You need to understand that Daphne and I weren't… exactly friends. That woman went through galleons at a rate even you wouldn't believe, but Astoria loves her, and I love Astoria. If I was aware of any threat to her, I would either have dealt with it, or you'd already know about it."

"So the rumours about her debts to the Goblins…?"

"They're true, of course, but the Goblins are pragmatic. So long as they could squeeze more money from me, they wouldn't move against her," he said with some confidence.

Harry wasn't so sure. "What if they decided they _could_ get more by moving against her?"

There was a pregnant pause, interrupted only by the deer that ambled into the clearing, before it realised there were people there and bounded off again into the night. The spells protecting the Hollow were a source of constant annoyance for the Improper Use of Magic Office, Harry knew. Despite decades of efforts aimed at shoring them up, they still let the occasional animal or muggle hiker through. Apparently it was something to do with the druid circle that had once occupied the clearing.

Attempts to get the Hollow to move to a different location had all been stalled or flat-out ignored for decades. When your clientele was composed primarily of the most wealthy and well-connected wizards in the country, even things like the Statute of Secrecy could become flexible.

Malfoy drew Harry's attention back to him when he spoke. "Are you suggesting the Goblins might have kidnapped her?"

"Look at it this way," said Harry. "Either Daphne did a runner for no reason anyone can work out, or she was kidnapped." The only slight issue with that logic was that if Daphne knew she was in danger, then she suddenly had a very good reason indeed to try and run for it. Still, it served to make his point.

Despite looking like he wanted to argue, Malfoy couldn't dispute the logic. "You might be right, but I still doubt the Goblins had anything to do with it." The look he was giving Harry made it clear that, in Malfoy's mind, there was still a very real possibility that someone at the Ministry was to blame.

"Do you know of any other debts?"

"Well, no," Malfoy admitted.

"Then, you can doubt all you like," said Harry. He didn't much care what Malfoy thought, and so felt very little need to try and convince him. "Whether it's goblins or anyone else, the important thing is that you contact me, or someone else in the DMLE if anyone tries to contact you in order to make demands. I know you don't like me all that much. Merlin knows I don't like you, but you _can_ trust me."

Malfoy's eyes tightened just fractionally for a moment before he nodded, seemingly accepting Harry's word. "Look, don't let Astoria know I told you this, but Daphne's not been doing so well recently."

"Not doing so well, how?"

"You know about the money, of course, but it's more than that." Malfoy glanced over to where his wife was seemingly deep in conversation with Pipsim the elf. Harry had to wonder how that particular conversation was going. Seemingly happy that his indiscretion would be undetected, Malfoy continued, "A few weeks ago Astoria found out that Daphne sold off most of her mother's jewellery collection to cover some more debts that we didn't even know about."

"So, more debts?" said Harry, not seeing the importance. "To who? I thought you said only the goblins were left?"

"They are. She paid everyone else off," said Malfoy waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "What matters is that that jewellery was all they had of their mother. Astoria was not happy."

"Go on."

"I was able to recover some of it, but Astoria and Daphne haven't so much as talked since then." Malfoy grimaced. "This evening was meant for them to start making up again."

"Is this relevant?" Harry asked. He couldn't see how any of the Malfoy family drama between Daphne and her sister could be important. Unless the man was trying to point the finger at his own wife for the disappearance? That just didn't add up. One thing Harry was absolutely sure about was that Malfoy loved his wife unconditionally.

"Look, Daphne and Astoria are more than just sisters, alright?" Malfoy snapped. "For years, they were all either of them had left. Now, Astoria has me, but Daphne? She doesn't really have anyone."

"She has plenty of friends," said Harry, though it sounded a little hollow even to him.

"Yes, but you know the kind of people Daphne likes to surround herself with," said Malfoy, glancing back over his shoulder again to make sure Astoria was not sneaking up on him. "They're not the kind of people you can rely on. Any sign of weakness and they'll pounce."

Harry didn't respond, and instead opted to simply look Malfoy up and down, his meaning hopefully clear.

"Yeah, yeah," said Malfoy, glaring at Harry. "I know what you think of me, but you also know there's a difference. Don't play dumb, Potter."

"Look, if all this is a roundabout way of telling me that there's a chance Daphne was somehow involved in the failed heist, we've already considered that. We're well aware of the possibility, but nothing was actually stolen."

Malfoy's eyes widened fractionally as he was apparently taken off balance by Harry's statement. "Well, yes. What I was trying to suggest was that if she was involved, she may have already had a buyer lined up."

Completing the thought, Harry said, "And if he found out that she'd failed, he might be displeased."

"Exactly."

"Any idea on a potential buyer, in that case?" Harry asked. At last: a real, honest to goodness lead.

Malfoy merely shrugged, quickly snuffing Harry's hopes out. "No idea. Muggle antiquities aren't really something I've ever paid much attention to, as you can imagine."

Of course he knew nothing. That would have been far too blood helpful. Harry knew that Daphne herself was seemingly well-read enough in that area that she could have her own contacts. Perhaps it would be worth the time to send someone back to the museum to talk to Geomann again.

"We'll look into it. What about the other debts?"

"Grakhbok is the Goblin in charge of Daphne's debts," Malfoy answered. "If they had anything to do with any of this, he'd surely know something."

"And those other debts?"

"I told you," said Malfoy, bristling a little. "Those were paid off."

Harry levelled a steady look at him. "Humour me."

"Fine!" said Malfoy, throwing up his hands in defeat. "There was Dervin Hale, Humongous Herman, and Gwillim Fenwick but like I said, they all got their money."

"Thank you," said Harry, as he prepared to apparate back to the Ministry. He could check up with them to see if any of their friends might have had some outstanding debts that Malfoy hadn't been able to sniff out "If you think of anything else that might help, let me know as soon as possible. If you happen to come up with a possible name for Daphne's fence, then do send it along. Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy."

He tipped his head towards the empty space behind Malfoy that definitely didn't contain his wife. Then, as Malfoy spun in place, a look of horror overcoming his face, Harry disappeared with a pop. It was going to be a long night.

Harry jerked awake and regretted it almost immediately. He wasn't sure quite what had awoken him, but he quickly became aware that the sensation of having an animated paper crane stuck to his cheek with his own dried saliva was a strange one indeed. He'd had a very odd dream before waking up, but it was quickly fading from his memory. Something about a man dressed all in black. Batman?

Why would he have been dreaming about Batman? His thoughts were derailed as the note spasmed again. The spells animating it had grown weak, and its feeble struggles were extremely off-putting.

He brushed it off his cheek, and snapped his fingers to remove the taste of week-old feet that had decided to take up residence in his mouth. The decision the night before to try and make a dent in his inbox while he waited for the arithmantic readings to come back had clearly not been his best. He glanced up at the clock and found that it was still before 6am. The chances that Padma was in, and thus knew about his attempted all-nighter, were blissfully slim.

His train of thought, seemingly operating far below optimal pressure, backed up slowly. He'd dreamed about Batman coming under some kind of attack. Usually those rare times when Batman haunted his dreams it was only for as long as it took to punch Harry in the face again.

He was unspeakably glad that that particular titbit had never reached general circulation.

Had Batman tried to contact him? A quick charm confirmed that he had not activated the card, which certainly would have explained the dream. Harry rubbed some lingering sleep out of his eyes as he stared at the flickering ghostly business card that was floating in mid-air. He'd done _something_ though.

A moment later, Harry pulled out his communication mirror, and said Zatanna's name. It stayed resolutely reflective, and Harry was forced to stare into his own lamentable face. He glanced at his clock and realised that the time in America was well past midnight. The chances that she was still awake were minimal. He stuffed it back into his pocket and decided to check up later, as soon as she was likely to be awake.

He looked over the limited disaster-zone that was his desk. Where had he been? Almost at random, he pulled a note from the top of the pile. It took only a glance to realise it was from Hermione, which meant he probably already knew what it was going to say. As he peered closer, he found that he was correct. Worried about him; rarely see him these days; needs to get away from his job; etc. He cast it aside and made a mental note to check in with both her and Ron.

Next to that was the muggle police report from the Museum attack. That was what Harry had been reading when he'd fallen asleep, as it made for some impressively dull reading considering the subject matter. He'd been going over it because there was something in it that was niggling at him that he couldn't quite pin down. He'd have to return to it when he was more awake.

Then his gaze fell upon the note that had been stuck to his face. It was from Nevins. He unfolded it, and started to read. It was blessedly brief and to the point.

Arithmancy could be an incredibly complex subject. The Hogwarts class was really not all that much better than divination, really. Oh it was dressed up in numbers and laws and principles that no doubt satisfied people like Hermione, but it still wasn't _useful_. The complexity required to go beyond vague question and answers was pretty staggering, and Harry was grateful he'd opted to avoid that particular career choice.

The arithmantic equations needed to try and deduce the whereabouts of a single person could fill a small book, and that was to say nothing of the working needed to actually arrive at a solution for them.

It took into account millions of different factors, from the simple things like the person's age, to the specific radius of their hairs. Every one of them was measured in esoteric units like the Flaubert, which had a different magnitude depending on the phase of the moon, or the positions of the planets. Harry could only dimly remember the brief introductory course he'd been given upon induction into the aurors, but he could easily remember his own horror at the thought that he'd once nearly considered taking the class at Hogwarts.

Then, through the application of dozens, or even hundreds of different equations which in theory could describe every aspect of a person's life to date, it was possible to reach a solution that _might_ offer some insight. Aurors were always careful to leave that part to the spell sniffers, who specialised in that unenviable work. The results were rarely simple to interpret. Some, like death, were theoretically easy. From what Harry understood, death simply led to a breakdown in the equation solutions, but the problem there was that there wasn't an easy way of knowing if you'd simply got the solution wrong, or the person was actually dead.

Other results, like finding out where someone was, could be very finicky indeed.

Nevins' note said that Daphne had not been taken by either a witch or a wizard, which was good, and probably reliable. The only problem was that it didn't say who _had_ actually taken her, and so it could be anyone, from muggles to merpeople. Next, the note said that she was being held far from the warmth of the sun, which Harry knew he had to take with a pinch of salt.

The 'where' question, to a magical discipline which had an inherently weak grasp on the coherent nature of space was always going to be a thorny one. Within magical theory, everywhere was connected to everywhere else, that was, after-all, how apparition and portkeys worked, and so trying to limit the arithmantic equations so that the answer didn't just come up as 'next to everywhere' was tricky in the extreme. The usual work around was not to ask 'where' at all, but to instead ask about elements. So Harry knew she was being held somewhere away from natural light, but no more than that.

So he was left with Daphne either hiding away in a bunker somewhere, or being held in a bunker somewhere by some non-witch or wizard.

That goblin theory was looking more and more likely, Harry had to admit. He pushed himself upright, groaning a little as his back creaked in protest. No amount of cushioning charms on his chair could make sleeping at his desk a comfortable affair. He crossed his office and pulled the door open. As he'd hoped, Padma was nowhere to be found, but there were a couple of aurors snoozing at their desks.

He stole silently across to where they were both sitting whom he immediately recognised as Susan Bones and Bartem Quigley. There was an alert charm cast around their desks which would surely wake them if he got too close, and so he transformed into his falcon form, rendering him beneath the charm's notice. It took only a second to land upon Susan's desk and transform back. He waited a second before suddenly shouting at the top of his voice: "Dark wizard attack!"

Susan reacted instantly, with all the decisiveness that would be expected of the niece of Amelia Bones. Her eyes snapped open, and her wand was in her hand before Harry had even finished shouting. A shield materialized in a perfect sphere around her, and she rose quickly to her feet, adopting a ready stance with her wand raised.

Quigley, on the other hand, made a strangled noise of alarm and fell backwards off his seat.

Before his chair had even stopped clattering upon the ground, Susan had dropped her shield charm, and was giving Harry the stink-eye. "I thought Moody died years ago," she said accusingly. "Are you going to be clomping around on a wooden leg shouting 'Constant Vigilance!' all the time? Cos if you are, I might just throw in the towel now."

"Not your finest showing," said Harry to the still-recumbent Quigley, opting to ignore Susan's query for the time being. "Good idea to take cover as quickly as possible, but maybe next time try to make it look a bit more intentional." Harry winked at him.

The younger auror gaped silently at Harry, obviously still trying to get his ducks in a row, so Harry turned to Susan. "Sorry about that, Susan," he said honestly. "I couldn't resist. Don't worry though. No wooden legs for me if I can help it. Really buggers up riding a broom, so I'm told."

"If you do that again, you might just need to worry about that," she said, seemingly still displeased with him. "Among other things."

Harry chuckled, and a moment later she joined him. "How'd you get by the alert charm?" she asked as they both watched Quigley shuffle to his feet, studiously avoiding their eyes.

"Being me has its advantages," said Harry. It was much more interesting to leave her guessing, she'd get more from the experience that way anyway. "Now, are you two up for a trip to Gringotts?"

Both of them frowned, though it fell to Susan to ask the obvious question. "Why Gringotts? Dark magic laws don't apply to them."

She was right, of course. Goblins had their own kind of magic that simply didn't conform to many of the Ministry's categorisations. Most obviously, goblins could not be witches or wizards, and thus could not be dark witches or wizards. It was really pretty fundamental. That meant that aurors generally had very little to do with them. If they could not be dark wizards, and if they could not use dark magic, then dark wizard hunters never needed to worry about them.

Oh, goblins could be right bastards. They could be every bit as cruel, vindictive, and bloodthirsty as witches and wizards, but that was someone else's problem. Usually, that person was part of the Goblin Liaison Office, not the DMLE.

"The Arithmancy came in on Daphne," said Harry, simply.

"Ah," said Susan. "It points to the goblins, then?"

"Could be. But with what we know about her debts, it's at least worth our time talking to them."

"But, sir," said Quigley, still looking a little lost. "If it's a disappearance then what's it got to do with the aurors?"

Harry met Susan's eye and she managed to silently communicate that she had the same question, but that she didn't much care about the answer. She'd known Daphne since they'd both been young and while they perhaps weren't friends, Susan wasn't the type to leave anyone behind if it was in her power to do something.

"We decided to keep the investigation into the dark magic traces at the museum open until we can work out what caused it," said Harry. It was flimsy as all hell, but another of the advantages of being Harry Potter was that people generally didn't complain too much when he started throwing his weight about a bit. "For the purposes of that investigation, Daphne remains a person of interest, and we need to work out what happened to her. If she's fled, we need to track her down."

"Oh." Quigley looked thoughtful for a few moments before shrugging, apparently deciding that Harry probably knew what he was doing. "Okay then. Gringotts."

Harry pulled a quill from his pocket and tapped it with his wand, " _Portus._ "

Without needing to be prompted, Susan and Quigley both touched a finger to the new portkey, and a moment later it pulled them through a kaleidoscopic tunnel which lasted for no more than the blink of an eye.

A heartbeat later, they were deposited smoothly before the huge silver doors of Gringotts Bank.

After the unfortunate incident with the dragon during the war with Voldemort, and the ensuing destruction that had been caused in the Gringotts foyer, the doors had been reforged. The poem was still there, though printed even larger than before, but they'd been joined by a little fresco all around the edges of the doors depicting exactly what would happen to those who might trespass.

Harry had quickly noted that the wizards in the animated engravings looked suspiciously like him, down to his still-untameable hair. The goblins had, of course, stated firmly that any likeness to people real or imagined were entirely coincidental. That there had been four heavily armed security goblins very visible nearby every time Harry visited the bank, and always wielding the sharpest, shiniest looking axes, was also meant to be coincidental.

As the three of them climbed the white marble steps, Harry noted one of the security goblins hurrying inside. No doubt so that his usual welcome party could be assembled.

The bank was empty of wizards so early in the morning, but it was still abuzz with activity. Goblins, by their nature, operated on a 47-ish hour-long 'day', and were entirely unconcerned by 'wizard ideas' like 'night' and 'day'. The bank was open for business, every minute of every hour of every day, except for a roughly seventy-nine hour period every year or so, when the bank was closed to everyone.

No-one was really sure what the goblins actually did with all their free time while the wizarding world was soundly asleep. Apparently they took some time off from having to constantly count gold coins, and instead passed their time doing much more enjoyable pursuits.

Like counting money.

When Harry, Susan and Quigley entered, not a single goblin looked up. Every one of them was seemingly far too busy to so much as acknowledge their presence, but despite all their best efforts, Harry knew they were being watched very closely.

They walked up to the head goblin, who raised a long, very nearly talon-like finger in an unspoken demand that they wait until he had completed whatever _incredibly_ important task currently consumed his attention. Harry glanced across at Susan, who looked a little put-out by the disrespect and looked like she was about to say something. He silenced her with a look; he'd become used to that kind of treatment.

He turned his back on the goblin and leaned back on the high desk. "So, while we wait," he said not altogether quietly to his two companions. "How are you both doing?"

Susan caught on quickly enough. She adopted a laid back stance, and responded. "Well enough. Leanne finally decided to move in."

"About time," said Harry, nodding amicably. "How long have you two been going out now? Two years?"

"Year and a half."

"Huh," Harry said lightly. "Feels like longer."

The goblin behind him cleared his throat, managing a passable impression of a particularly ticked-off dragon. A good way of getting on a goblin's nerves was to spout niceties in their vicinity, and the best way of getting good service, if not exactly friendly, was to annoy the goblin enough that they wanted to get rid of you as quickly as possible.

So Harry opted to ignore him. "How about you, Quigley? Your sister should be on her OWLs this year, right?"

Quigley's eyes darted from Harry to the point behind him which was no-doubt occupied by an irate goblin, then back to Harry. "Yessir," he said rapidly. "She—"

"Mr. Potter," said the goblin forcefully, interrupting whatever Quigley had been about to say. "What do you want?"

With a quick wink to Quigley, Harry turned back to the Head Goblin. "I'd like to speak with Grahkbok, if it's not too much trouble." He paused, thinking his words over for a second before adding, "If it is too much trouble, I still need to speak to him."

"Grakhbok is very busy," said the Head Goblin tersely. "He does not have time to entertain whatever wizards' inanity concerns you today."

Harry sucked a breath in through his teeth, in a move recognised by morally dubious tradesmen the world over. "That's a pity, then. Would have made this whole affair much less expensive." He turned to his two companions. "Well, you heard the ma- goblin. We'll have to come back later with the Goblin Liaison Office."

It was no secret to anyone that the name 'Goblin Liaison Office' was perhaps a bit of a misnomer. They didn't so much 'liaise', as threaten, bribe and coerce. It had been a surprise, the first time he'd seen them in action, but after they'd explained the reasoning for it, he'd seen the necessity.

Goblins respected only strength, cunning, and wealth. Gobbledegook didn't even have its own word for 'negotiations', with the thing that came closest being 'pettifog' which, somewhat ironically, had ended up in the English lexicon. It meant to quibble over small details, while attempting to deceive the other into giving up something of value. Larger negotiations were typically handled by way of bribery, backstabbing and the liberal application of carefully measured violence.

It worked well enough for the goblins themselves, but it had led to a number of unfortunate misunderstandings in their dealings with other races. The result had been the establishment of the Goblin Liaison Office, so that wizards could deal with goblins on their own level. It usually involved some black eyes and minor flesh wounds on both sides, but it had done its job of ensuring the Goblin Rebellions were a thing of the past.

One thing that had not been expected was the realisation that witches and wizards were, in many cases, far better at goblin 'negotiations' than the goblins were themselves. Cunning, vicious and spiteful they may be, but they lacked a certain amount of imagination that the witches and wizards of the Goblin Liaison Office had long been able to use to their advantage. Gringotts had quickly learned that it was in their best interests to try and keep the Liaison Office out of their more minor dealings, lest they haemorrhage gold through artfully constructed loopholes.

"Stop." said the Head Goblin before Harry and his companions had even made it more than a couple of steps. "I will bring you to Grakhbok."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, I had a lot of fun with the goblins. Strangely, this story, out of all of my works, is the most closely tied to the real Harry Potter world, and I've had a great time doing some actual Harry Potter world-building for the background.
> 
> Stay safe out there!


	6. Chapter 6

Grakhbok's office took some time to reach, hurtling down dark tunnels. Gringotts Bank was over five hundred years old, and the goblin tunnels upon which it had been built were older still, but they were always digging out more of them. It was an item of pride for the more highly-ranked Goblins that their offices were the deepest, and Grakhbok's office was very deep-down indeed.

It was a little like the muggle fascination with skyscrapers, Harry supposed. There was something about standing higher than everyone else that spoke to humans on a fundamental level. Perhaps it was the simple fact that the person holding the high ground typically had the advantage in a fight. Goblins, however, were a traditionally subterranean race, and for them wars were all about undermining their enemies.

Harry's ears popped as they descended another vertiginous drop in the perpetually rattly cart kept specifically for wizard usage. While most of the upper reaches of the miles and miles of tunnels were filled with the damp coolness common to caves, the air in the deeper reaches started to warm up. He wasn't sure how deep the tunnels went, but if he were to ask a goblin he was certain the answer would be 'not deep enough'.

The cart came to a sudden halt. "We're here," the cart-goblin snapped. "Out."

Wasting no time, Harry hopped out of the cart onto the patch of unblemished marble floor that surrounded a grand doorway. In the upper reaches of the Gringotts tunnels the marble was much more common and there were very few patches of uncovered stone left, after generations of goblins had left their own marks. It was obvious, however, that Grakhbok's office really was in one of the newest excavations. The stone looked freshly cut.

He glanced back to see Susan, Quigley, and the cart-goblin stepping out of the cart. Quigley looked understandably green around the gills, while Susan looked unconcerned as she re-tied her pony-tail which had come loose during their trip.

"Follow me," said the cart-goblin as he hobbled past Harry without so much as a backwards glance.

The door they'd stopped at was large enough to admit a fully-grown troll, and Harry distantly wondered if there was a good reason for that, or if it was just another manifestation of the megalomania often suffered by the deeper-down goblins. Through the door was a long hall, constructed entirely from marble in both white and black.

No-one could ever accuse goblins of being daring when it came to architectural stylings.

All along the corridor, there were statues that could have put the Greeks to shame. Each one was a goblin in some moment of triumph. There were a few dead or defeated wizards being trampled by clawed feet, but most of the vanquished enemies were goblins or centaurs. They were painted in lurid colours, and whoever had done the defeated foes had clearly had a _lot_ of extra red to get rid of.

The goblin leading them down the hall noticed Harry glancing at the statues, and grinned that broad toothy goblin smile that had more in common with the expression a shark would make before eating a baby seal than the more familiar human expression. "Like them, wizard? Maybe you'd like to pose for one some day?"

"Perhaps I will," said Harry, opting to completely ignore the insinuation. He pointed to the incredibly long hooked nose that seemed to be shared by all the victorious goblins. "I might have to get some work done in that area though, if I'm to fit in."

The grin quickly turned into a scowl, but the actual difference in number of teeth or malice aforethought was pretty minimal. "No dawdling, wizard."

Harry merely shrugged and continued to follow the goblin. His companions followed behind, and Harry heard Quigley muttering to Susan.

"Why's he riling them up so much? We were always taught to tread carefully with the goblins!"

Susan chuckled under her breath. "He's Harry Potter; he riles them up enough just by continuing to breathe."

"Exactly, and if I tried to make nice with them, they'd just see that as weakness," said Harry, which caused Quigley to jump. He'd apparently not realised that the corridor was an almost perfect echo chamber. "Not big on dealing with weaklings, goblins. Right Snapclaw?"

The goblin stopped and glared at Harry. "My name is Snarglaw." He didn't actually answer the question, but then Harry hadn't expected him to.

"Well, can't blame a guy for trying." Harry shrugged lazily. He was laying it on a bit thick, he knew.

Using a goblin's name without invitation was a power-play that was commonly misunderstood, but using the wrong name was even more insulting. Ordinarily, he wouldn't bother with the games when talking to such a low-ranked goblin, but there was a certain similarity between his nose and the statues that had Harry thinking there might be a relation there.

If he could piss off Grakhbok a bit before even getting to his office, it might speed the process up a bit. He walked past the still glaring Snarglaw, making sure to walk fast enough that the goblin had to adopt a kind of half-trot to keep up. It wasn't like he really _needed_ the direction anyway, it was a single corridor with a door at the end, and no side-tunnels.

Despite his wounded pride, Snarglaw managed to overtake Harry using a curious combination of a run and a sidle. He knocked on the heavy oaken doors that dominated the end of the corridor with his long bony fingers.

An inhumanly croaky voice issued from the speaking tube by the door: "Come."

Snarglaw pushed the doors open immediately and Harry, flanked by Susan and Quigley, entered the room.

Much like the rest of Gringotts there was a lamentable lack of originality. Marble was the dominant theme, though this time it was accented with thick golden detail work. The room was almost completely empty, apart from a single huge desk made of a wood so dark that it was almost black. It was covered in score-marks and chips, and Harry got the feeling it was some kind of trophy, it certainly looked like it might have had wars fought over it.

Behind the desk sat Grakhbok. Even to Harry's relatively discerning eye, there wasn't much that identified him as a goblin of wealth and power. He was a little better fed, perhaps, and a little less scarred but he could easily have blended in among the teller goblins who worked the floor at Gringotts. That, of course, was probably the point. It was an unwise goblin indeed that flaunted their status too openly.

He glared at Harry over intertwined claws, his dark eyes flashing balefully. "Yes? What do you want?"

"How are you, Grakhbok?" said Harry, helping himself to a seat. "Gold flowing and all that business?"

"Your purpose, Mr. Potter. Lest I have you removed from Gringotts for wasting my time," said Grakhbok, demonstrating exactly the level of restraint that had surely seen him elevated to his current position.

Harry decided to cut to the chase. "You were in charge of managing the debts Daphne Greengrass owed to this bank, correct?"

"We do not offer comment on our business dealings," said Grakhbok simply.

"So that _is_ correct," said Harry, drawing a momentary scowl from Grakhbok. "Did you have anything to do with her recent disappearance?"

A flicker of a frown passed over the goblin's face, and he glanced at Snarglaw for the briefest of moments before speaking, "We do not offer comment on wizardly affairs."

"She owed you quite a bit of money," said Harry, as he leaned forward and started fiddling with a sparkly rock on Grakhbok's desk. "Seems you were onto a nice money-spinner in Malfoy. I wonder how much more you could make with a little bit of extortion?"

"If you have misplaced a witch, then it is no concern of ours," said Grakhbok, though the fact that Snarglaw was at that moment stepping silently out of the room to parts unknown suggested that there was at least some level of concern. Grakhbok grinned broadly, displaying dozens of sharp yellowing teeth. "It seems that it is catching among your acquaintances, perhaps it is your companions who should be concerned."

It seemed this goblin did have claws after-all. Harry brushed off the barb."Ah, but I think it is," he said as he tossed the stone into the air, catching it as he continued: "After-all, if she's been taken by someone else… Well, those debts she has all just kind of go away, am I right?"

Grakhbok's claw snapped out with incredible speed, plucking the stone from the air before Harry could catch it again. "We had nothing to do with Miss Greengrass' supposed disappearance," said Grakhbok. He placed the stone carefully back upon the table, just outside of Harry's reach. When he set it down the door opened once more, and four heavily armed goblins stepped in, each carrying a familiar shiny halberd. "Now, leave."

"Thank you for being so forthcoming," said Harry as he rose. He turned to his two companions and sent them a small nod. Susan seemed at-ease enough, but Quigley looked jittery. Best to get them out of there. It might not have seemed like he'd gained all that much, but the answers had still been telling. He turned back to Grakhbok and said in parting, "Do give my regards to young Snarglaw."

With that, he stepped back through the door and out of the office, flanked closely by his glowering guards. It seemed that they were content to almost completely ignore both of his companions.

On their long walk back to the cart, Harry caught sight of a suspicious ripple in the air moving in the opposite direction to his own group. With a surreptitious tap of his finger upon the side of his skull, concealed poorly as scratching his temple, Harry cast a supersensory charm upon himself.

The unseen figure was no goblin, but a wizard. He was fairly tall, and had a pronounced limp that would have put old Mad-Eye to shame. There weren't all that many wizards who worked with the goblins, and most of those that did were still unable to traverse the lower levels without a goblin escort. It didn't take much to identify the figure as the goblins' witch hunter.

After an ascent, every bit as rapid and ear-popping as the descent had been, Harry pulled Susan and Quigley into a corner not far from the bank.

"Forgive me, sir," said Quigley looking confused, "but did we actually learn anything after all that?"

"They don't know where Daphne is either," Susan responded. "I'm not sure they even knew she _was_ missing before we went down there."

"Good spot," said Harry. Susan had a good eye. "What tipped you off?"

"Despite your best efforts, the thing that got to him the most was you telling him Daphne had disappeared," she said. "If he already knew about it, he would have expected that."

Harry nodded, pleased that she'd noticed that much. "Anything else?"

There was a pause as Susan and Quigley shared a look, unsure of what he was getting at. "Uh, if they'd been behind it, they would have delayed us more and forced us to go through the Liaison Office?"

"Also, true." Realising they hadn't seen what he had, he decided to put them out of their misery. "Old Aimsleigh passed us in the corridor on our way out. He was under a disillusionment charm, but it was definitely him."

Understanding dawned on Susan's face. "So the first thing Grakhbok did was send for their witch hunter."

"Which leaves us back at square one," said Harry. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to think of their next move.

"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever's left, no matter how unlikely, has to be the truth," said Quigley, and Harry recognised it as being very nearly a quote.

"Only problem with that is that the scope of the impossible is, well, impossibly large," said Harry tiredly. Perhaps sleeping at his desk for five hours wasn't the best idea. "We'll be at it forever if we try and eliminate every impossible thing."

Perhaps that sounded overly harsh. "Look, I know what you mean, Quigley," he said. "You two head back to the office. I'm going to run some personal errands."

They did as asked, though not before Susan shot him a look that told him she knew exactly where he was going. He didn't mind. It wasn't exactly secret, just personal. As soon as they had departed back to the Ministry, Harry apparated to St Mungo's. He had a friend who was long overdue a visit.

The young woman on the desk recognised him instantly, of course, and let him pass through without anything more than the familiar wide-eyed stare to which Harry had long ago become accustomed. He made his way quickly down the many maze-like corridors before he arrived at his destination. The door looked no different to any of the others he'd passed on his way, but he knew better.

It was not often that a hospital door was secured with the same spells that kept Azkaban prisoners safely locked up.

He pushed the door open, the protective enchantments placed upon it instantly recognising his position as Head Auror. The room beyond was bare, but not completely empty. There was a small table beside an enchanted window that was heavily laden with plants. Despite the earliness of the hour, tending to them with no small amount of care was a wizard who, up until a few months ago, Harry would have called one of his best friends.

What Neville Longbottom was now, after his actions in Gotham, Harry wasn't sure.

Neville turned and met Harry's eye. "Hey, Harry. Long time no see."

"You know how it is," said Harry as he walked over to his familiar spot by the window and leaned against it as he always did.

"Hermione was in last week," said Neville as he nodded distantly. He carefully clipped away a shriveled branch from the plant he was fussing over. "She said you were working yourself too hard again."

"She's one to talk," said Harry with a snort.

"She said as much," Neville admitted with a glance and a wan smile. "And she said you'd say it too. Doesn't mean she's wrong."

"I guess not."

Neville turned, seemingly satisfied that his charges were fit and healthy enough for the time being. He sat down on the edge of his simple hospital bed with a groaning of springs that Harry was pretty sure they were charmed to have and folded his hands across his lap.

"So, if you're so busy, why are you here?"

Sometimes Harry was able to convince himself that nothing had changed in Neville during his time in Gotham, but most of the time he knew that was a lie. He'd never exactly been a jolly man, but before Gotham he'd never really slipped into melancholy.

"Daphne's gone missing," said Harry. No point in sugar coating it.

Neville looked up sharply, some of the old fire that had seen him spit in the face of death as a mere teenager. "How?"

"We're still investigating," said Harry, knowing how weak that sounded. "Honestly, though? I don't have a clue. She just vanished from outside a busy restaurant. No-one knows anything."

"That's it?" Neville asked. Once, before the messy reality of politics, house rivalries and, most importantly, Voldemort, Neville and Daphne had been good friends. It had ended even before Hogwarts had begun, really, but Neville was not the kind of person to stop caring simply because someone else had taken him for granted.

"We'll find her, Neville," said Harry firmly. "You of all people know I don't give up easily."

Fierce blue eyes met Harry's own until, seemingly satisfied, Neville relaxed just a little. "Yeah, I know that," he said eventually. He paused a moment before frowning, then asked, "Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Most people would have given up on me a long time ago," said Neville, "but not you. How much did it cost you to get me set up in here, rather than thrown into Azkaban? I never asked before."

It hadn't been cheap. Harry was effectively paying for Neville's continual 'treatment' out of his own pocket, but that didn't matter to him. "I don't put a galleon value on friendship, Neville."

"I killed people, Harry," said Neville. He sounded like he wasn't buying the excuse. "I knew what I was doing would kill people, but I did it anyway. Doesn't that warrant Azkaban?"

"You weren't yourself."

Shaking his head, Neville said, "Wasn't I? Even now, I feel like that was more _me_ than I've ever been. I was finally doing what needed to be done. Some might die, yes, but most of them were evil men, you know that."

And therein lay the reason why Neville, seemingly recovered though he might seem, was still locked up behind Azkaban level protections.

"Killing evil people is not justice," said Harry with a sad shake of his head. "It's murder, no-matter who the victim is."

"I know, I know," said Neville. He wasn't agreeing, just saying that he knew what Harry meant.

They'd been over their arguments a dozen times before, and Harry wondered if perhaps he shouldn't be the one that lived permanently in a secure room within the Spell Damage Ward. After-all, what else could it be but insanity to try and play that conversation over and over and over again and hope for a new outcome?

"How's that working out for you, by the way?" Neville asked. "Justice. You don't seem any less busy than you were before."

"Justice isn't about making our lives easy," said Harry.

"No? Then what is it about? Sympathy for criminals? Compassion for murderers? You keep telling me what justice _isn't_ , never what it _is_. Don't you think victims and their families deserve something? Or are they just meant to be grateful that the person who hurt them got a slap on the wrist?"

"Justice is about not compromising our morals out of fear of what might happen," said Harry. He pushed himself off the wall and started pacing back and forth. It felt redundant even saying it, it was something Neville should have known. "You understood that once. I remember a kid who stood up against certain death because he knew that we can't let fear keep us from doing what we know is right. We're all just people, Neville, good or bad, it's all just people. As soon as we start dropping them into neat little boxes and saying 'the people in this box are better off dead', where does that lead? Right back to where we started, that's where."

"So better do nothing, then?" said Neville. "Easy for you to say. You got to put down the monster that ruined your life. What do other victims get?"

"They get _justice_. We all get justice. That's the point. No boxes, just the fair and even application of the law to all." Harry stopped pacing.

"Fair?" Neville shot back. "Or just unfeeling?"

Harry decided not to answer, and instead took a deep breath and moved back over to the window and took a closer look at Neville's little collection of greenery. It was a little larger than he remembered.

"You could be a hero, you know?" said Neville, behind him. "I fucked it up. I know that. But you could do it. Most of the world already thinks you are already, anyway."

That wasn't a conversation that Harry wanted to get into. "Has Luna been to visit again?" he asked, as he spied a little sapling dirigible plum. Technically, Neville wasn't allowed anything magical in his room, but maybe they'd help. After so long, he was starting to think it would take a miracle to restore his friend.

Even if he did fully recover, there was an open question over the possibility that he could return to ordinary life. Even the Department of Mysteries had categorized the Book that had caused it all as too powerful, and too dangerous to research. It had been locked away deep beneath the Ministry, and with it many of Harry's hopes for helping his friend.

A genuine smile drifted across Neville's face. "She did. Apparently she's worried you might be coming down with a case of the Waggerdly Whugs."

"I'm not even going to ask."

"Probably for the best."

A familiar awkward silence descended between them. Sometimes a little glimpse of normality shone through, but it seemed like all it did was make the subtle _wrongness_ more clear. Harry opened his mouth to find some other inanity to pass the time, when he heard Padma's voice issue from the communications mirror he kept tucked away in one of his many pockets.

"Harry, there's something going on. I think you should see this."

Rather than fumble through his pockets searching for the mirror, something he did more out of habit than anything else, he quickly summoned it to his hand. In it he found Padma looking tired and a little the worse for wear. She'd obviously been woken up.

"What is it?"

"Big time dark magic happening in the south of Scotland," she said, her face completely serious. "Really big time."

"On my way." He looked up at Neville who was watching him with interest. "Look, I need to deal with this. I'll see you around, yeah?"

Neville chuckled. "Around. Sure."

No further words were spoken, and less than a minute later Harry disapparated from the hospital's foyer with a crack of inrushing air. In the blink of an eye, he reappeared in his office at the Ministry. Padma was already there, and spun around when she heard him arrive.

"Good," she said. She wasted no time, and quickly unrolled a large tattered parchment over Harry's desk. She tapped her wand to it, and a line-drawn map of northern England and southern Scotland materialised, as if drawn by an invisible hand. "We're not sure what it is, but it's not far from the muggle town of Dumfries."

Harry peered at the map and tried to get his bearings. It was not a town he'd ever had call to visit, and the sum total of his familiarity with it was from seeing it occasionally on maps. To his knowledge there was no significant magical population nearby.

"What's there?"

"Only thing anyone can think of is a stone circle," said Padma, sounding unconvinced. "The Twelve Apostles."

Stone circles were a truly ancient form of magic, the very first known magical focus, and as a result were almost uniformly crap compared to wands. Not only was it difficult to carry a stone circle around in a pocket, they also limited the kinds of magic that could be used. Due to the powerful but imprecise focus, trajectile spells were essentially impossible to cast. Other types of magic, however, had surely benefited from the incredible power that could be channelled.

"When was the magic detected?" he said as he tapped his wand to the map. The map's lines came to life, sliding across the parchment until they traced the roads and buildings of the local area. It didn't look too heavily populated.

"Less than 15 minutes ago." Padma stopped for a moment when a number of memos winged their way into the room. She plucked one from the flock, and her eyes widened. "This says the dark magic matches some of the features you recognised at the museum."

Fifteen minutes ago would have been around dawn. Harry almost felt relieved. He'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, and now here it was. "Okay, I'll head straight out with Bones and Quigley," he said, quickly formulating a plan. "I want you to get another team together, along with a spell sniffer, and an unspeakable if possible, and join us as soon as you're able."

"Harry, you don't know what you're going into!"

"Dark magic, that close to a muggle village? There's no way I can wait for a full team." Unspoken was the fact that the magic of stone circles was often highly sacrificial in nature, and though the druids who'd constructed them often kept their sacrifices to animals or food, modern witches and wizards had a bit of a tendency to take the word 'sacrifice' and run with it.

Without waiting for a response, Harry stepped through the door into the main office, and called out to Susan and Quigley. "You two, we're the advance force. Destination is the Twelve Apostles stone circle outside Dumfries."

They both hurried to obey, neither opting to ask any questions. There would be time for questions later. When a dark magic user was threatening a muggle town, most things could wait until later. It took only seconds for them to get ready and step up close to him.

Harry pulled out the same quill he'd used to get them to Gringotts, and tapped it as he incanted, " _Portus_ ".

They all touched a finger to it, and the world was sucked away from them in a whorl of colour and rushing wind.


	7. Chapter 7

When Harry and his two allies arrived, nothing seemed untoward. They appeared in a lush green field, among a small herd of black and white cows. Already terrified, the sudden arrival of Harry, Susan and Quigley did not help. Their alarmed mooing filled the air, as they lumbered away from the newly arrived wizards. Not far away, just at the edge of the field, a main-road was still mostly quiet thanks to the early hour.

If not for the spinning black cloud that hung over the nearby stone circle, it could even have been called idyllic.

As Harry looked towards the stone circle, that ominous cloud casting a dark shadow over it, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

It was Quigley, surprisingly, who was first to speak. "What the hell is that?"

Ordinarily the circle wouldn't be considered particularly impressive. The stones were relatively small, and compared to something like Stonehenge it all looked a bit haphazard. They were big rocks to be sure, but they weren't _huge_. They weren't shaped in any recognisable fashion, and there was even a gap where one of the twelve stones that had originally made up the circle had been filched by enterprising locals, and was probably being used in the foundations of a nearby building.

In that gap there was a familiar figure, honey-blonde hair whipping around her as if she was standing in the middle of a ferocious gale. "What the hell does she think she's doing?" Harry asked no-one in particular.

"Who's that in the middle of the circle?" said Susan as she pointed to another figure, partially distorted behind a shimmering barrier that extended a few feet beyond the ring of stones.

He was tall and muscular, and wearing a long red cape over a blue bodysuit. His eyes glowed red.

"Shit. That's Superman," said Harry, barely able to believe what he was seeing. Suddenly, the cold hand of worry clutched at him. He wasted no time in pulling out his communication mirror and speaking Padma's name.

"Harry?" she said the moment she appeared. She was a bit breathless, and behind her Harry could see Ministry staff running to-and-fro while memos zipped overhead. "What is it?"

"Superman's here." Harry's eyes traced back to the two figures in the stone circle. Fortunately, it seemed that neither had noticed them yet. "Daphne too. You need to get in contact with Zatanna as soon as possible, find out what's going on with the Justice League."

"I don't understand," said Padma, sounding confused and worried in equal measure. "You think they're up to something?"

Harry shook his head. "I think they're caught up in something. I need to go, we have to stop whatever this is right now."

"We'll be there in—"

Without waiting for her to finish, Harry stuffed the mirror away again. "Okay. Quigley, you stay with Bones. Take Daphne down. Superman doesn't have any magic, if we can get to her, whatever they're doing should collapse."

"Sir, Superman is—"

"Mine," said Harry. He knew what Quigley's objection was going to be. Superman might be every bit as vulnerable to magic as any other muggle, but he had the speed to circle the world in the blink of an eye, and the strength to juggle mountains. There was no way Harry was going to let either of his companions go up against something like that.

Quigley dropped silent, but Susan was not so easily cowed. "But, the barrier? As soon as it drops he'll have to know you're there."

"Just make sure you stop that spell," said Harry, before he disapparated with a loud crack.

In the blink of an eye he reappeared just feet from the shimmering barrier. Now that he was closer, he could see much more of what was happening.

Daphne looked terrified, but was reciting words from a piece of paper in a loud if shaky voice that carried even over the howling winds that formed part of the barrier. Harry couldn't recognise any of the words, but the power of the spell was clear to see.

Between Harry and Daphne was Superman. The moment Harry arrived, the man's head turned to seek him out. The movement was so fast that it was like he had not moved at all. It was as if the world had simply stuttered, like a muggle movie missing some frames. His eyes glowed with a fierce red light, so bright that it left white spots in Harry's vision. When he realised that Harry had arrived outside the defensive spells, a cruel smile washed over his features.

Clearly satisfied that Harry was no threat to him, he turned back to Daphne, who'd faltered in her reading. He waved a hand at her, and the light from his eyes grew even brighter. Impossibly bright. Daphne's desperate gaze lingered on Harry for a moment before it returned to the paper. She continued reciting whatever spell it was that was written there.

Harry had never seen the barrier spell before, but whatever it was it was strong. The power that had gone into it washed over him in waves, but he knew he had to try and get through it. If he could even distract Superman for long enough that his two companions had a chance to reach Daphne, they might just make it out.

" _Confractio!_ " he shouted, as he thrust his wand at the shield. A beam of pale blue light cut through the air, and through the shadows cast by the dark cloud overhead.

It struck the shield, and to his surprise, sliced through it like it was nothing more than tissue-paper. The entire dome of wind and magic collapsed in an instant, and Superman whirled around once again, a look of shock upon his face.

There was a strange moment of silence, then. Daphne's words faltered, forgotten in the face of the unexpected. At the same time, Harry and Superman met each-other's gaze, sharing the same surprise that Harry's spell had actually worked.

It was Harry that recovered first. Whatever the spell was, the way stone circles worked meant that Superman was confined to the centre. The focal loci of stone circles were highly specific, unless he was willing to allow the spell to completely collapse he had to stay within that small area. That was an incredible stroke of luck and meant that his most dangerous offensive ability, his ability to punch mountains into gravel, was nullified as long as Harry remained beyond his grasp. Harry had read Superman's file, though, and he was far from helpless.

" _Protego Ardus!_ " Harry cried, already guessing Superman's next move.

The shield appeared not a moment too soon. Searing red beams issued from Superman's eyes and stabbed across the space between them less than a heart-beat later. They splashed uselessly against Harry's shield, unable to penetrate the protective magics.

From behind the safety of his shield charm, Harry sent a stunner back, but in a blur of motion, Superman side-stepped it with ease. Despite the movement, the red beams did not so much as falter. If anything, they grew even brighter.

If he wanted to hit Superman with anything, he'd need the element of surprise. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. He silently cast a flame-freezing charm upon the continuous beams, then, after a quick prayer to whatever beings might be listening, he silenced himself, and dropped his shield.

It hurt, a lot, but Harry had experienced pain before. Heat, he'd expected, and the flame freezing charms reduced it to something closer to the heat of scalding water rather than something that could cut right through him and cauterize the wound instantly. What he hadn't expected was the physical force behind the beams, which threw him back a few feet, and he landed painfully on the hard ground. He slid a short distance until one of the stones of the circle stopped him. Thanks to the silencing spell, he didn't make a sound.

Painful though it was, his gambit had the desired effect. Superman turned back towards Daphne, seemingly confident that Harry had been dealt with. Daphne screamed, and called out his name, but there was nothing else she could do. She continued reciting the spell, and Harry could feel the magical power reaching a crescendo.

From his position prone on the ground, Harry took advantage of Superman's lack of attention. He silently cast a binding spell, as he touched the tip of one finger against the stone of the circle.

Just as the stones focused Daphne's spell, so too did they direct Harry's magic. He felt the stones empower the fairly ordinary conjuration, and then release it all into the centre of the circle. Right at Superman.

Huge iridescent beams of pure light rushed from the ground at his feet, and enveloped each of his limbs in bindings unbreakable by any muggle. Superman gave a wordless shout, and pulled at them, but he was fighting magic itself. No amount of raw strength could break the bonds. Instead, his feet sunk deep into the ground, as he pulled at the bindings with every ounce of his impossible strength.

As he fought, Susan and Quigley appeared on the other side of the circle, wands levelled at Daphne. Superman reacted too quickly, though, and breathed a cloud of freezing fog over them, forcing them back behind conjured shields.

Then Harry felt something change in the magic that filled the air, like it had finally reached complete saturation. It sparked across the ground, and little bolts of lightning descended from the cloud overhead to hit each of the remaining stones. The stones drank in the collected power, and lightning continued to dance between them and the cloud above.

Worse than that, though, was the feeling of his binding spell being drained by the stones too. He rose quickly to his feet and cast a silent full-body bind curse upon the still-bound man before they could unravel completely.

Superman was fast, beyond anything any witch or wizard could hope to match. With that speed he could avoid almost any spell, and even curses without a visible manifestation, like the full-body bind, could be avoided if he knew they were coming. The caster's wand still needed to point at the intended target, and it was assumed that Superman would have very little reason to stay wherever the wizard was pointing if he was in a fight.

Fortunately, this time Superman had little option. He could not move far from his position near the centre of the circle but even then, if unrestrained, he could surely have avoided any conventional curse. The magical bindings Harry had conjured left him nowhere to go, and, once they had him in their grasp, he was helpless in the face of more normal charms and curses.

Or he should have been. Harry felt rather than saw the spell fizzle out, the power sucked from it even as it tried to gain purchase upon its target. Superman no doubt felt the spell try and fail to lock him in place. Perhaps he felt a shiver of numbness, but it was not enough. His head turned again, and he locked eyes with Harry once more.

This time there was no time to shield, and no time to try and jump out of the way. He barely even had time to comprehend the danger, when the blinding light of Superman's eye-beams surged towards him, filling his world. In that long moment, Harry saw Bones and Quigley emerge unscathed from behind their shield and stun Daphne in an instant. All they needed to do was escape, and perhaps this would all be worthwhile. He wondered what it felt like to have his brain boil behind his eyes. What did that kind of heat feel like?

He never found out. There was a blur of movement in front of him. Before Harry was even aware of it, a figure appeared between him and his certain doom. Their arms were held up high, and crossed before them as if to try and block the beams. Harry's first thought was that it was some auror, who'd apparated into the fight in a vain attempt to save his life, and whose death he would have to watch in the moments before his own.

But they did not die. There was a metallic sound, half-way between a clash and a scream, and the beams were deflected into the sky, where they cut a hole straight through the dark cloud overhead. Harry blinked as he recognised his rescuer.

She was tall, with long dark hair. Red and gold armour protected much of her torso, but left her shoulders bare. On her legs she wore red and gold boots that reached nearly to her knees. She was unmistakable.

It was Wonder Woman.

She didn't even look back to check that Harry was okay. Instead she ran straight at Superman with a speed Harry could barely follow. The ground shook at the booming collision as her fist, which must have been moving faster than the newest Nimbus, was caught by Superman's immovable hands. The last vestiges of Harry's binding spell had wilted away completely.

Superman's face twisted in anger. " _Amazōn_."

It was unmistakably Superman's voice, but it didn't take a genius to work out that something was very wrong with it. Harry had never met him in person, but everything he knew of him said that Superman was not a cruel man.

Harry could not see Wonder Woman's face, but her body language communicated her surprise well enough on its own. Before she could respond the cloud that had been swirling overhead dropped over them, and the world was plunged into absolute darkness. Almost instinctively, he raised a hasty shield, but before it was able to fully manifest a boom echoed in the darkness. A moment later a figure, feminine and clad in armour, hit him bodily. Though she had no doubt been slowed by the incomplete shield, she still crushed him against the stone. Pain bloomed across his back, but at least it didn't feel like he'd broken anything.

Adrenaline dulled whatever injury he'd received, and he pushed the groaning body of Wonder Woman off him then rose to his feet, wand held at the ready. He swung it in a broad circle, and in a moment the dark cloud was burned off, allowing the sun to stream down once more.

Susan and Quigley were both down, but Harry could see they were stirring weakly. Daphne had been thrown to the ground too, but she soon stood up on shaky legs. Superman was the only one still standing and he looked around, confusion written across his face. Had the spell failed?

His eyes, fading slowly from red back to blue landed on Wonder Woman lying upon the ground next to Harry and concern flashed across his face. He started walking towards her when Daphne raised an empty hand, palm open. He stopped instantly, swaying like a tree in a gale.

"Oh, that is so much better," said Daphne and just like Superman before her, she did not sound at all like herself. Unlike Superman, it was her voice, but it did not sound like her using it. The undercurrent of bravado that Daphne often had was completely gone. She clearly had no more use for that kind of pretense. "This is _much_ easier now."

She stalked forward, casually stepping over the prone bodies of Harry's companions before stopping beside Superman. She whispered something in his ear, and he turned back towards Harry.

" _Petrificus Totalus!_ " said Harry before Superman's eyes could once more begin to glow, a sight that Harry had no plan to see again so soon.

Daphne waved a hand and the spell was dissipated even before it could take effect. She laughed, and rather than the carefully crafted, refined sound Harry had heard from her before, it was high and cruel.

"You, at least, are interesting," she said as she looked him up and down. "Perhaps I shall keep you alive. Once I have retrieved the treasure of Gyfnewid, then we shall see if you remain a foe worthy of me."

There was no way he was going to let them get away. He turned his wand towards the ground, but before it could so much as move an inch, Superman was upon him in a blur of impossible speed.

His hands closed around Harry's neck with a strength that could move continents. Harry felt his airways begin to constrict as steel fists slowly closed about his neck. Dark spots erupted across his vision as he was lifted into the air. He clawed at the hands. He may as well have tried to break diamond with a flobberworm.

Only, flobberworms could not cast spells. A silent banishing charm sent Superman flying away from him across the circle, cutting a deep furrow in the earth when he landed. Harry landed upon the grass, gasping for breath, but he knew he didn't have time to waste on trivialities like breathing.

Without so much as looking up, he cast a shield charm, which sprung into being just in time. Superman recovered from being thrown across the circle in less time than it had taken Harry to take a second breath, but he found his fist meeting an immovable magical barrier. Even behind his shield he felt the sheer power of it, the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object. Harry felt the vibrations of it through his feet.

Superman drew in a breath, and ice crystals started twinkling in the air about his mouth and nose. A torrent of cold washed over Harry's shield, encasing it, and him, in thick ice, but the shield did not fail. Harry could feel the cold clawing at him as his own laboured breaths sent clouds of condensation into the frigid air.

With a gesture, he shattered his shield outwards, blowing Superman back once more. That was followed immediately by another full-body bind, which caught him before he could gather his wits, and he collided with one of the stones of the circle with enough force to crack it in two.

There was no time to celebrate, as Daphne opted to step in then, apparently realising that Superman was not going to be able to take Harry down with as much ease as she'd expected.

Hissing rose up from the ground all around Harry's feet. Dozens of snakes moved through the long grass. Before they could lunge at him, Harry cast an imperturbable charm upon his trousers. They bit and snapped, but the trousers turned them all aside. Even that short moment had given Daphne enough time to free Superman from his petrification, and Harry looked up to see him standing slowly, as if he'd just suffered little more than a minor trip. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck.

Harry tried to raise his wand once more, but knew it would be too slow. The nigh-invisible flash of red and blue surged forward, but before it could reach him, another blur of movement intercepted it with an ear-splitting burst of sound. Wonder Woman was back on her feet. Her eye was rapidly swelling, and Harry was sure she'd have a shiner for the history books once the day was done, but her expression was implacable.

"Stop this, Kal!" she said as she held his fist back with both hands.

Superman did not react visibly, but slowly, inexorably, he was able to push her back. Suddenly, Wonder Woman pulled one of her hands away, and Superman's fist hit her hard enough over the cheek to shatter any normal person's skull to sand. She barely flinched.

She brought her free hand up and around, delivering a fierce blow to Superman's own head, before she spun up and over, still gripping his arm until she had it pulled up tight against his own back. "This is not you, Kal. Fight it!"

"Foolish girl," said Daphne. A spell Harry could not recognise left her outstretched hand, sickly yellow and stinking of decay. It flew towards Wonder Woman, but was deflected by Harry's hasty defence.

Then the sound that Harry had been waiting for met his ears. The staccato pop of multiple apparations.

"Aurors. Stop!" came the cry from many different throats.

Daphne froze. She looked around the assembled witches and wizards. Padma had been able to scrounge together a handful of aurors and hit-wizards, backed up by a few others who Harry recognised as members of the Law Enforcement Patrol. Daphne raised her hands slowly, palms open.

They shouldn't have relaxed, but they did. Wonder Woman saw Daphne surrendering, and her grip on Superman slackened, just ever so slightly.

A blinding flash issued from Daphne's open hands. A moment later, as everyone tried to look away, there was a crack and a grunt, followed at last by a distant boom. When the afterglow faded Superman and Daphne were both gone. Wonder Woman had been thrown into the same stone that Superman had cracked, reducing it to rubble.

Williamson, one of the newly arrived aurors was the first to speak: "How'd they apparate out?" He was one of the few that remained of the 'old guard' that had managed to survive the war with Voldemort either through cowardice, or a complete lack of morals. Harry's been itching for an excuse to get rid of the man for years, but he was just well enough connected that it had proven difficult in the extreme. "We got the charms up!"

"Did you get hit by a Slugear Jinx, Williamson?" said Padma, and Harry was grateful that she chose to save him the effort of bringing the man to task. There was a reason Williamson was usually assigned to the Hogsmeade patrol. "Or did you just ignore me when I told you we were dealing with Superman?"

Williamson scoffed, and Harry knew he'd have to have another of those conversations with the man once the night was through. "Just a muggle in a stupid costume," he said.

With the pain in his back returning with some vengeance, Harry decided to leave them to it. He left Padma to update Williamson on the exact kind of danger Superman posed to witches and wizards, and walked over to where Wonder Woman was pushing herself shakily upright. She was covered in scrapes and bruises, but looked remarkably non-dead for someone who'd taken multiple punches from Superman.

"You okay there?" he asked, extending a hand to assist her which she brushed aside.

"Who are you, really?" she asked without any kind of preamble. Her blue eyes, almost shockingly bright in the early-morning sun, flicked across the scene taking in everything, and everyone, in an instant.

"I'm Harry Potter, and I'm a member of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement of Britain." He decided to try again, and extended his hand a second time for her to shake. "Thanks for the assist there, I'm sure I would have ended up a smear on that hill over there if not for you."

Still, she didn't shake his hand. Instead, a card appeared from some unseen pouch, and she held it out for him to see. "Do you know Batman?"

The card glowed a moment, and Harry experienced a very strange kind of out-of-body experience where he was looking at himself from atop Wonder Woman's head. As his vision returned to normal, he blinked his eyes back into focus. "Uh, yeah. That's me. He helped me with something in Gotham a while back."

"Then perhaps you will have some idea of what has happened here?" she asked, finally taking his hand and shaking it. Her grip was as he remembered, extremely firm.

"Right now? Not really," Harry admitted. As he spoke he prodded at his bruised back experimentally. He was definitely going to need a salve. "That might change after we've gone over what Daphne was doing with a fine-tooth comb. For example, I assume you guessed there was something wrong with Superman?"

Wonder Woman sighed, and sat down heavily on the remains of the broken stone. "It didn't require much guesswork," she admitted sadly. "Not after he managed to freeze nearly the entire Justice League in some kind of spell."

That wasn't what he'd thought he was going to hear. Without the Justice League, trying to take down Superman, whatever it was that had happened to him to cause him to go crazy, would be very difficult. Especially if he had some plan of his own which certainly seemed likely given what he'd seen that morning.

"Zatanna too?" he asked immediately.

Wonder Woman looked up at him, and he could see his concern mirrored in her eyes. "Including Zatanna."

"Tell me what happened."


	8. Chapter 8

"No-one suspected anything," said Wonder Woman. Some bitterness crept into her tone as she spoke. "Well, except Batman, but I think he suspects everyone of everything at all times. Kal—" She hesitated.

"Superman is Kal-El, or Clark Kent, depending on who you ask," said Harry, guessing what had caused her to pause. "Don't worry, we have files on all of you, so you don't need to worry about keeping their names secret."

She looked slightly troubled by that, which Harry supposed was fair. If he was in her position, he certainly wouldn't have been happy about it. Still, she decided to continue her story, "Kal called an all-members meeting after something happened in London yesterday."

Harry didn't bother to point out that it hadn't been yesterday, strictly speaking. It was hardly important. "I heard about that. Zatanna mentioned it when I called to ask about what happened there."

"It makes sense that you would know Zatanna," she said after a moment. Then she frowned and looked him up and down. "Not once has she mentioned you, however."

"Well, no," said Harry evenly. He decided to give her a very compressed explanation. "Legally, she's not allowed. Any non-magical who finds out about magic is meant to have those memories erased. Zatanna skirts around those rules a bit, and the powers that be usually let people like her get away with it, so long as they don't endanger the rest of us. Now, can you tell me what happened at the meeting? What happened to the rest of the Justice League?"

He got the distinct impression that the jury was still out on him as far as Wonder Woman was concerned, but she decided to answer his question anyway. "He brought a woman out in front of us all. The woman that was here, and she said some words in Mycenaean Greek and we were all frozen in place."

"Was this maybe three or so hours ago?"

Wonder Woman looked a little taken aback. "Yes," she said, before her eyes narrowed. "How did you know?"

"The card you have," said Harry, pointing to where it was still held in her hand. "I gave it to Batman in case he was ever in my kind of trouble. I assume you found it on him?"

"He saw what was coming a moment before the rest of us," she admitted. "He pulled out that card, but wasn't able to do anything more before we were all frozen. I assumed it had something to do with what happened. He knows about your society, then?"

"Officially? No," said Harry after checking to make sure Williamson wasn't anywhere nearby. "But how often have you known Batman to be satisfied with partial understanding? I decided it was better he know than having him trying to snoop around. How'd you break the spell?"

"I don't know. I have previously fought a few magic users. Possibly that afforded me some level of unexpected resistance." She thought for a moment, then continued, "Actually, it is possible that my divine blessings reduced the spell's hold over me enough that I could break free. It called upon Hephaestus to bind us in chains unbreaking, but he and I have something of an accord."

That wasn't the answer Harry had been expecting, but it worked as well as any other. Whether the Greek god Hephaestus actually existed or not didn't really matter all that much, and really, Wonder Woman would surely know more about that than him anyway. Best just take her word for it. "Okay, so you were able to break the spell upon yourself. What about everyone else?"

"They are all still frozen in place," she said regretfully. "I did what I could to aid them, but there was nothing I could think to do. I decided I needed to track the witch down to break the spell, and J'onn talked me through how to track Superman's locator beacon from the Monitor Womb."

J'onn J'onzz, Harry's memory supplied. Another alien. The so-called 'Martian Manhunter' and a telepath of impressive ability, among other powers. "He communicated with you telepathically?"

She nodded. "Indeed."

It didn't take much to work out that she'd then followed Superman using the locator beacon. "Well, I'm glad you arrived when you did. I suspected something bad had happened when I saw Superman here, so I asked Padma to check in with Zatanna, which obviously won't have achieved anything." He really hoped she was okay. "I'll have to get in contact with the Americans. Hopefully they'll send someone over to the Hall of Justice. See if they can't find some way of helping. With a bit of luck it'll be an easy fix for a couple of their curse-breakers."

"I hope they are able to do something," said Wonder Woman, her brow furrowed. "Kal will be difficult to stop without the League, even if he does seem to be holding back. What do you believe has happened to him?

"That was holding back?" said Harry, not bothering to hide his incredulity. He'd read the reports on some of the things Superman had done, but it never really hit home until the same hands that had pushed an asteroid the size of a city out of Earth's path were trying to throttle you. He hesitated a moment before he answered her question. Didn't she deserve to know at least that much?

"It would seem that he is being controlled by Daphne somehow," he said as he considered how best to explain it. He hadn't seen her cast any spell he recognised, and when they arrived it was almost certainly Superman who'd been pulling the strings.

"Is it possible that he could break through her control?" Diana asked.

Harry grimaced. "I wouldn't want to put money on it," he hedged. "If I had to guess I'd say he was already being controlled by something before the spell being cast here was completed. It's possible the entire purpose of this mess was to cement control over him. Maybe it's not an Imperius Curse, but I doubt we have the time to wait for him to be able to throw it off."

"This Imperius Curse would control him completely?" she asked, eyes wide. Harry could easily understand that worry.

"It would," said Harry more than a little reluctantly. Talk of the Unforgivables certainly wasn't the best way to introduce someone to the idea of a society of magic users. "Even witches and wizards are mostly helpless against it. I'm sure Superman has a strong mind, but he simply doesn't have the magic in him to really fight back. There's a reason that spell earns anyone who uses it a life-sentence."

Then, Wonder Woman asked the question that had been bothering Harry. "If such a spell exists, then why would they not use it?"

There was clearly more going on than first met the eye. When they'd arrived, it seemed obvious that it was Superman calling the shots, and Daphne was the prisoner, but as soon as the spell had completed, it was Daphne who was in charge. He really needed to see what the spell-sniffers and unspeakables had managed to work out in the short time they'd had.

"I'm not sure," he admitted at last, "but I intend to find out. I have a feeling that if we want to work out what's going on here, we're going to have to work together. Any chance I can convince you to lend us a hand?"

She thought about it for a long few seconds, clearly troubled by what she had learned, but she eventually graced him with the beginnings of a smile. "That would be best, I think. If we are to be working together, though, I must insist you call me Diana."

Technically, he should probably refer to her by some honorific or other, but if she wasn't one to stand on ceremony, neither was he. "Alright Diana," he said with a companionable nod. "I'm going to check in with Padma and see what we've got. Do you want me to have someone take a look at that bruise?"

"I will be fine," said Diana firmly. "I heal quickly, and as I said, Kal was holding himself back." When she said she healed quickly, it was obvious she wasn't exaggerating. Her bruises were already starting to darken from their previous fresh red.

Harry shrugged, and didn't raise any complaints. She knew her own limits best, he was sure. It didn't take long to locate Padma standing near the point where Daphne had been standing. She was talking to Nevins and, if Harry was any judge, not getting all that much from the conversation. It was easy enough to hop over the twin furrows left by Superman during the fight. Diana followed on behind.

"What do we have so far?" he said as he approached the two.

Padma and Nevins both looked up. From the look in Padma's eyes Nevins had a way of getting under her skin too. "Slightly more than nothing," she said tartly.

"There's really not been enough time to do anything more than speculate," said Nevins. Perhaps he didn't realise how close he was flying to the sun. "You will have my report just as soon as it is ready. However, I can say that the spell here appears to have been Ancient Greek in origin."

"Why the stone circle, then?" Harry asked. After all, his somewhat shaky memory of History of Magic told him that they weren't exactly common outside of the British Isles at the time.

"I don't endeavour to tell you _why_ people do things," said Nevins with a drawn out sigh. "Only what they _did_ do. The why of it is none of my concern."

Harry caught Padma's glance and they shared a grimace.

"Perhaps you can humour us, then," said Diana, stepping forward as she did so. "If it was you, why would you do it?"

For a moment it looked like Nevins was going to give her the same bitingly sarcastic remark he'd have given Harry in that situation, but when he realised who was asking he paused.

He tried, without much success, to smooth down his hair. "Well, my good lady," he said. His attempt to grace her with a charming smile really didn't work. It was the smile of a man who'd quite possibly only seen one in diagrams. "There are many possible reasons. Perhaps the spell has been modified subtly to work better under the more natural influence of a stone circle, or perhaps the caster was simply unable to source a staff of ancient laurelwood. That would have been the natural focus for the spell, assuming it keeps to its Greek roots."

"Wouldn't any ordinary wand have worked?" Harry asked.

Nevins' smile evaporated like dew on a summer's morning. He scoffed. "Well, of course not. Even modern laurelwood reproductions would have been ineffective. Ancient Laurelwood was known for its magical properties thanks to the Naiads that often called them home."

Apparently that actually meant something to Diana. "You are speaking of the myth of Daphne and Apollo?"

"Indeed, my good lady," said Nevins, the smile rematerializing in moments. "A muggle simplification, of course, but somewhat accurate in the generalities."

"Wait, wait," said Padma after sharing another look with Harry. "Daphne?"

"The name Daphne means laurel in English," said Diana. "In the myth, Daphne was a nymph who was being pursued by Apollo, but who turned herself into a tree to escape his affections."

"Daphne was also the name of the witch who was casting the spell here," said Harry. That couldn't be a coincidence. "Could that have had anything to do with the spell?"

Nevins' mouth went wide for a moment before snapping shut again. After a moment, he started casting more diagnostic spells, and between muttered incantations he said, "I never even thought of it, but that is truly ingenious. I hadn't the time to really consider it yet, but the witch, Daphne? She was a part of the circle itself."

He pointed to each of the eleven stones of the Twelve Apostles. "It's a circle in twelve elements, but one is missing. By replacing the last stone with Daphne, not only was the circle completed, but the nature of the circle itself took on something of the laurel. This is _inspired_!"

"Well, at least we're not being given the run-around by a _stupid_ dark witch," said Padma to Harry and Diana as they watched Nevins become absorbed in his work, and completely oblivious to everything else around him.

"I don't think we're going to get much more from him for the time being," said Harry in resignation. He turned to Padma. "What else do we have?"

"Susan and Quigley are okay. A bit bashed up, a few broken bones, but it's nothing that can't be fixed up in a few seconds," she said. "I have Gribbert and Hawes making sure none of the muggles in the village over the road remember anything. Beyond that, though, I'm not sure what to do. I sent most of the team home. Until either the unspeakables or Nevins come up with something actionable, we're stuck."

"We might still be able to work out where they're going," said Harry, thinking back to the fight. "Daphne said something about searching for the treasure of Guvnewid. If we can work out what that is, we can work out where they're headed next."

"I also might be able to track Kal again from the Hall of Justice," Diana supplied. "For whatever reason, it does not seem that he knew of the locator beacon."

"Or he did, and he just didn't think anyone could follow him after he froze you all," said Harry.

"It is still worth checking," said Diana.

"I hope you can still track him," said Padma. "I really don't like the sound of trying to work out what they're after from something Harry half-heard in the middle of a fight."

Harry grinned. "You know me better than that." He pulled out his wand, and quickly extracted the brief memory, and with a swish of his wand, threw it into the air. To the remaining witches and wizards on the scene, he shouted, "Listen up you lot!"

Daphne's voice followed his almost immediately, loud enough to be heard by everyone, "Perhaps I shall keep you alive. Once I have retrieved the treasure of Gyfnewid, then we shall see if you remain a foe worthy of me."

"Mean anything to anyone?" Harry asked as he looked around.

"'Gyfnewid' is Welsh," said Diana, looking thoughtful. "It means 'to exchange'. Is that any help? I am afraid I cannot tell you any more than that."

"It's a start at least," said Harry, grateful to have even that much even if it did raise the minor question of just how many languages Diana actually spoke. He looked at Padma. "Who do we have who's hot on Welsh stuff?"

"Someone, I'm sure. I'll need to look into it," she replied.

"Right. In that case, we should head back to the Ministry and find out what's happened with Diana's people." Harry turned to the woman in question. "How are you with magical modes of travel?"

"I have experienced Zatanna's method of magical travel," said Diana, and to her credit she sounded a little wary. "It seemed pleasant enough."

Harry hummed, before deciding that sink or swim was probably the best approach. "Well, this isn't that."

He grabbed her arm, and apparated back to the Ministry.

o-o

"Potter, what the _hell_ is going on, and why do I have a meta-human in my department?" Robards, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Harry's direct boss, looked distinctly displeased.

"Robards," said Harry evenly, not bothering so much as to glance at the man. He usually knew better than to try and throw his weight around. Harry had kept Williamson and Savage on the books as aurors as his single concession to the man who, even if he had not participated directly, had not so much as lifted a finger to reign in the Death Eaters during the year Voldemort's cronies had managed to take over the Ministry. It didn't take much to work out who it was that had actually seen fit to inform Robards of Diana's involvement.

It took a moment for Robards to realise that Harry had no intention of actually answering his question. "Well?"

Harry sighed and put down the book he'd been flicking through almost absent-mindedly. Sometimes he wished the word 'glossary' wasn't completely foreign to more academically minded witches and wizards. It really did make searching for 'Gyfnewid' a shade more difficult. He looked up and met Robards eyes. "There was a dark magic event in Scotland. I don't suppose you've ever heard of 'Gyfnewid'?"

"I don't mean that!" Robards waved his hand impatiently. "Why is a member of the Justice League in the Ministry of all places?"

"Oh, Diana?" said Harry. He deliberately took his time speaking. "She's helping us. Pretty good with translations apparently. Not sure how many languages, but given our current situation, it's already proven to be a fairly useful skill."

Robards clearly realised that he wasn't getting anywhere fast. He sighed. "Look, cut the shit Potter. You know the ICW will pitch a fit when they find out, and you're not just doing this to piss me off, so what is it?"

"We're not sure at the moment," said Harry. He caught the disbelieving look on Robards' face. "No, really. It could be a possession of some kind. Maybe just a madness curse or something. If what we know so far is right, then we're dealing with some _old_ magic. You know what kind of weird shit they did back then. We're lucky Superman didn't turn into a swarm of scarabs, or a bull or something."

"So we have both Superman _and_ Wonder Woman caught up in this?"

"More than that I'm afraid," said Harry, grimacing. "Superman and Greengrass managed to freeze the entire Justice League somehow. Diana's just the only one that was able to break the spell so far. I already got in contact with Carruthers in MACUSA, and I'm hoping he gets back to me soon with some good news."

"You went to—" Robards stopped himself. "Look. If this goes arse about tit, you're the one taking the fall for this, got that?"

"Of course, sir," said Harry. An outside observer might be surprised to see that he was happy about that, but if it meant Robards went on a 'holiday' for the duration of the crisis, it would make Harry's life so very much easier. "You know nothing about anything. Got it."

Robards glared at him, clearly not appreciating the quip. "Potter, I told you to cut the shit. Something like this presents a real danger to the Statute. Superheroes and wizards, running around together? You know the magic of the Statute is thinning because of the Justice League's nonsense. Something like this? It could be the final straw."

Without waiting for Harry to respond, Robards swept away. He was probably off to go and hide in a basement somewhere, which was what Harry understood he did during Voldemort's reign of terror.

No sooner had he departed, than Padma, Quigley, and Diana took his place.

"Quigley worked it out," said Padma without preamble as she led the other two into his office.

Harry pushed himself upright, and focused his attention on Quigley. "Right. Fill me in."

"Well, everyone was checking magical textbooks looking for 'Gyfnewid', I thought I might check some muggle sources," said Quigley rapidly enough that it took Harry a moment to digest what he'd said.

"Hey," said Harry as he gestured calmly with the palm of his hand. "Slow it down. We're on the clock, but a few seconds to catch your breath won't make or break us."

"Thank you, sir," Quigley took a calming breath, and started again, speaking slower this time, "I was looking into Welsh myths and legends, and I found it pretty quickly. Llassar Llaes Gyfnewid was a giant, and one of the owners of the _Pair Dadeni_."

" _Pair Dadeni_ ," said Harry. He couldn't remember if he'd ever heard of it before, but it rang a bell somewhere. Some long-forgotten thing from History of Magic, perhaps? "What is it?"

"It means the Cauldron of Rebirth," Diana supplied. That did sound more familiar.

"It was supposedly once used by a King of Ireland to bring his warriors back from the dead," said Padma.

A cauldron that could revive the dead? Harry _had_ seen something like that before. "When Voldemort was revived, he used a spell and potion together to rebirth him from a cauldron," he said. Surely that couldn't be a coincidence.

"I don't know what kind of magic he used," said Padma. "But it's very possible that it was similar. We'd need to ask someone who knows more about it."

Harry's mind, however, was already hurtling through possible connections. He started leafing through the unspeakables' report into the jar from the museum. He'd always kept knowledge of Voldemort's horcruxes as a closely guarded secret. Partially, that was because of the danger they represented, but it was also because it was not important in the post-Voldemort world. It wasn't exactly casual conversation fodder, after-all.

If his worst suspicions ended up being true, that might have been a mistake.

He looked over at Quigley. "Good find. Now, I'm sorry to say I need to ask you to give us a minute."

Despite his obvious confusion, Quigley complied without question. When he pulled the door closed behind him, Harry cast a secrecy charm over it.

Obviously concerned by Harry's sudden shift in demeanour, Padma asked: "What's this about?"

"I need an unspeakable up here that knows about horcruxes," Harry said, voice deathly serious.

"Horcruxes?" she asked. "What are they?"

"The worst-case scenario."

It took longer than Harry would have liked to find an unspeakable that would admit to even so much as knowledge of the existence of horcruxes, let alone any details about them. In the circumstances Harry wasn't inclined to be especially picky. As soon as he or she, he could never be sure beneath the robes, had been found, they were ushered into Harry's office alongside Padma and Diana.

"What's all this about, Harry?" Padma asked, once the door was once again locked and charmed. "Why all the cloak and dagger?"

Before he could answer, Diana added her own question: "And if I might ask, why am I included in this circle of trust?"

"That's easy. Whatever has happened involved Superman, and there's no-one else here with the same knowledge of him you have," said Harry easily. He didn't mention the fact that there were some small translations he wanted her to perform. "Padma, you know about how Voldemort was resurrected?"

She nodded, of course she did. Everyone knew the story of Harry's 'heroic stand', which conveniently left out the pants-wetting terror he'd felt at the time.

"Well, the only reason there was anything to actually revive was Voldemort's horcruxes. I don't understand the magic of it as well as I'm sure our unspeakable friend does, but to put it in the terms I use to understand it, they are like anchors for the soul. So long as a horcrux exists, the wizard who created it cannot pass on. They're left as something a bit more than a ghost or poltergeist, but less than the living."

Padma soon made the same connection Harry had. "And so you think that there is a horcrux involved? That's why they want the Cauldron?"

"I do." Harry tossed the report on the urn across to the unspeakable. "I don't know the kind of magic required to make a horcrux, and I don't want to know. But does that look like one to you?"

The unspeakable peered at the scratchy handwriting for nearly a minute, flipping pages quickly as they did so. "It's possible," they said eventually. "It looks unfinished, though. A lot of the charms may have broken down over the years. I do think that might have been the original intent, though."

Harry realised there was an important detail which he hadn't explained. "I should mention that horcruxes are not simple passive 'anchors'. They contain some portion of the soul of the witch or wizard that created it. If that soul fragment is strong enough, it is possible for it to possess those who come into contact with it."

It was Diana that got there first. "So you believe the Serpent, this 'Erpōn', possessed Kal after the fight in the Museum?"

The unspeakable's head jerked up from where they'd been continuing to read over the report. "I'm sorry, did you just say Herpo?"

Suddenly, that worst case scenario was looking even less favourable. "Fuck," said Harry.

Padma, however, merely looked confused. "Herpo, he was some dark wizard from ancient-times, right?"

"Hah!" Harry barked. "Not just some dark wizard, sadly. He _invented_ horcruxes. And basilisks too, among other things. Full of grand ideas, was old Herpo."

"Ho Deinos," said Diana, and now she looked worried too. "If he is controlling Kal, then that is why Kal called me _Amazōn_. Ho Deinos was responsible for the ruin of Mycenae when they turned against his tyranny."

"From what I know he was eventually killed by Andros the Invincible," said Harry. "Not that it did anyone much good. He still managed to send them into the dark ages for a few hundred years."

Diana's face was serious. "It is a cautionary tale among my people," she said. "Ho Deinos was a Cretan magic user who managed to accumulate great power during the height of what you now call the Minoan Civilisation. He claimed to be the son of Ishasarame, the Minoan Goddess of life, rebirth and magic. His power grew so great that he attempted to take the daughter of the Minos as his wife, and fled with her to Akrotiri on Thera, which you now know as Santorini.

"When he attempted to lay with her, however, she spurned him, and attempted to kill him when she saw the ships of her father on the horizon. Ho Deinos' wrath was great, and is remembered by the history of Man's World as the Theran eruption. He then fled to mainland Greece where he installed himself upon the throne what would later come to be known as Mycenae. He used his dark and forbidden magics to take for himself a new body every generation, and he birthed many horrific creatures. The basilisk, as you know it, was surely his most terrible creation, and with them he spread his power across all of Greece.

"Even that was not enough for him, however. He once again grew enamoured of a woman. Helen of Sparta, who learned of his interest, and fled to Troy to escape him. It availed her little, though, for Ho Deinos' legions of abominations could not be turned back by any mortal force of arms. My own people attempted to aid Troy, but even we could not stand against them.

"So Helen was taken, and taken to bed by Ho Deinos. Eventually, she gave birth to a son, Andros. When he was born, Helen begged Ho Deinos to be allowed to send him away, to grow up away from the cruelty of the Serpent's Court, and dark though his heart was, he allowed it, out of the love that had grown within him for her.

"So it was that he grew up to become a magician too, yet a more different man you could never have imagined. Where Ho Deinos was cruel and arbitrary, Andros was kind and just. He rose up to oppose his father, and finally defeated him. So it was that Love, even from the darkest of hearts, came to overcome evil."

As Diana's history lesson came to an end, it took Harry a moment to bring himself back to reality. He'd not spent that much time researching the origins of Horcruxes and their inventor, but he was certain her story was not common knowledge, even among wizards.

Padma was clearly thinking along similar lines. "I have read the Iliad, and I do not remember anything like that," she half-asked.

"So great were his crimes that he was struck from all records," said Diana with a sad shake of her head. "The stories recorded by Homer were heroic inventions, long after the fact."

While it was all very interesting, Harry felt like they'd managed to get a bit off-track. "Okay, so to sum up, we have an ancient, evil, and possibly immortal dark wizard controlling the mind of perhaps the most powerful being on the planet," he said, shaking his head. If what Diana was saying was true then things were even worse than he'd already suspected, if that were possible. "Well, fixing that is a problem for later. Right now, we need to work out where he's heading next."

"Well that's going to be a problem," said Padma. She was flipping through the book of myths in which Quigley had found the reference to Gyfnewid. "This says the Cauldron was destroyed. If he had some method to rebirth himself historically, why bother going to the effort of finding the cauldron?"

"For the second, I can answer that," said the unspeakable, sounding a bit apprehensive. "If what… um… Diana says is true, then it is almost certain that the methods he used have been destroyed. Either by early efforts, or by efforts since related to the Statute. Remember that magic then was significantly less well developed in its ease of use. It is likely that he needed to make use of enchanted items to achieve his resurrections, and they are almost certainly lost."

"Okay," said Padma, accepting that logic. "Then what about the fact that the cauldron was supposedly destroyed?"

Harry frowned. "Well, either they're completely misinformed, and searching for something that was destroyed millennia ago, or that book is wrong." He turned to look at Diana. "What about the tracker you had on Superman?"

She shook her head. "It's off. I do not know if it was damaged in the fight, or if they disabled it on purpose, but I have been unable to get any kind of signal."

"Then we should talk to Geomann," said Padma firmly. "He's undoubtedly the most likely to know more about the myth."

It made sense. With a flick of his wand, Harry released the charms on the door and pulled it open only to be met by an extremely irate-looking Astoria Malfoy.

She wasted no time. "Potter, what the hell is going on?"

For a brief moment, Harry wanted to comment on the feeling of déjà vu. Apparently that was the question of the day. Instead, he decided to give her an answer. "Your sister has gotten caught up in the effects of a nasty magical item that went undetected at the museum," said Harry. It was true, after a fashion at least. "Unless you can tell me where the _Pair Dadeni_ lives these days, I suggest you go home, and let us do our jobs."

Her sharp blue eyes narrowed to slits. "Is that some kind of joke? What does some old myth have to do with my sister?"

"Possibly everything," said Harry. He really didn't have time to offer a full explanation to everyone willing to kick down his door. "Now, please, let us get back to work."

Astoria fell silent then, and she looked troubled. "Well, Daphne always loved the old myths. I remember her talking about it last time we were at the museum together. She and Pavel said that unlike what the muggle legends say, it was stolen away to the Orchedes by…" she trailed off. "Oh, who was it?"

"And where's that?" Harry asked.

"I'm _sure_ I don't know," said Astoria. "Daphne was the one with an interest in those things. I only ever learned enough to humour her. I'd suggest you talk with Pavel."

Harry resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and instead settled on scratching his chin. From the feel of it, the stubble was probably looking pretty untidy after his all-nighter. "Well thank you for that," he said, and if he sounded a bit displeased, he thought it was understandable. He raised his voice and shouted to a wizard he could see walking past his office door: "Oi, McDonald, can you go fetch Geomann? Quick as you like."

Without waiting for a response from the startled younger auror, he turned back to Astoria and was about to tell her to bugger off, in slightly more polite terms, when his fire started sparking green. A moment later, the familiar head of Carruthers, the Director of Magical Law Enforcement at the MACUSA appeared in it.

He wasted no time. "Potter. We need to talk."

It never rains but it pours. "I'll be right with you," said Harry before glancing briefly at Astoria. "If you'll excuse me."

For a moment it seemed as if she was going to protest, but in the end she settled for sweeping from the room while making a huffing noise. Harry turned his attention back to Carruthers.

"I've just got back from the Hall of Justice," said Carruthers, needing no prompting. "Whatever it was that happened there was some kind of big time spell. Never seen anything like it."

"Have you been able to reverse it?" Diana asked, drawing Carruthers attention.

"Ah, so this is where you ended up," he said before shaking his head sadly. "You and… uh… 'Green Lantern' are the only missing members we know about. Everyone else is still frozen. The boys down in Spell Identification say it's some form of petrification."

"Hal is off-world," said Diana helpfully. "He said there was something that required his attention on Korugar. I do not know when he will return."

Good to know, but not immediately helpful. Harry nodded before asking Carruthers, "Any chance a Mandrake Draught will clear things up?" Given his tone, he didn't hold out all that much hope.

"Not without a whole bunch of modifications," said Carruthers, as his disembodied head twisted from side to side. "Something in the spell's construction. Can't say I really understood much of the jargon they were throwing around."

Harry groaned in frustration. It was hardly unexpected, but that didn't make it any less annoying. "How long to make the modifications?"

"Few days at most."

Harry looked over to where Padma was taking some notes. "See if we can't scrounge up some researchers of our own for the project." It wasn't exactly something he could promise, but hopefully Padma could pull some strings. He looked back at Carruthers. "If you think that might be helpful, of course."

"Send them on over son. We can work out what we need as we go. What's going on on your end?"

Harry was sure he'd get a very pointedly-worded memo from on-high for it, but decided to give Carruthers the basics anyway. The man _was_ being helpful, and deserved to get something back. "We think Superman was possessed by an ancient Greek dark artefact. The dark ritual we failed to interrupt seems to have given the… spirit control over Miss Greengrass as well. It seems they're searching for something else, possibly to try and revive the dark wizard that created the artefact in the first place."

Carruthers whistled almost appreciatively. "Well, sounds like you boys got the pointy end of that wand. Seems we dodged the curse there."

Silently, Harry agreed. Sometimes he found himself wondering what a simple life must feel like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As might be expected by the folk who've read my other works, I try to keep language stuff plausible in my stories, but attempting to make use of Mycenaean Greek is more troublesome than I expected, as I was only able to find a word-list of a about 53 words. As a result, I have had Diana mostly use Ancient Greek terms to describe Herpo. The Goddess Ishasarame is a made-up name for the snake goddess found represented in Minoan statuary, and the name is a mix of the possibly related Hittite word išhaššara (mistress) and some suggested pronunciations of the undeciphered Linear A script thought to be related to the being.
> 
> There will be some more Welsh names for things as the story progresses, but they're fairly minimal. So long as you remember the (very very) rough guide that:  
> y = 'uh' sound  
> f = 'v' sound  
> ff = 'f' sound  
> w = 'oo' sound  
> u = 'ih' sound  
> d = 'd' sound (simple but)  
> dd = 'th' sound (like in 'then')  
> l = 'l' (normal, but)  
> ll = unusual sound for english speakers, but a bit like trying to say 'l' and 'h' at the same time as breathing out.  
> That should give you a starting point, but if you want more actually correct pronunciations, you can have a look around for yourself. Welsh is a well-documented and still very much alive language, and there's plenty of audio clips around.


	9. Chapter 9

Geomann was ushered into Harry's office, looking flustered and confused. After the morning he'd had, Harry could sympathise.

"Have I done something wrong, Mr. Potter?" he asked as he took his place in a conjured seat.

"Nothing wrong," said Harry truthfully. "We just need your expertise on something, if you don't mind?"

"Was all of this really necessary?" Geomann asked, perpetually watery eyes flicking to the auror who was retreating out the door again. "My door is always open."

"I'm afraid so." Harry sat on the edge of his desk while Diana hovered nearby.

Padma was elsewhere coordinating the search-effort for Daphne, and Diana didn't have all that much else she could do for the search, so Harry figured he'd have her sit in while he was questioning Geomann. At least her gift for languages might prove helpful.

"We need to know about the _Pair Dadeni_ ," said Harry as he made himself comfortable.

Geomann frowned behind his thick-rimmed spectacles. "The Cauldron of Rebirth? You are still investigating Daphne?"

Something in how he said her name gave Harry the distinct impression that poor Pavel might be holding a torch for the woman, but it wasn't important. That was very much _his_ problem, not Harry's. "We're trying to track down her abductor," said Harry. It was technically the truth, after-all. "We have reason to believe that they are going to attempt to locate the cauldron, and we need to know anything you might have which could narrow the search area."

"Well, as you probably know, the muggle legend states that it was destroyed," said Geomann as he pushed his glasses up unnecessarily. "There's one version of the legend, recorded by an Irish wizard, that said that it was instead stolen by a young wizard from the Orchedes." He clearly noticed Harry's impending question and clarified: "The Orkney Islands."

So far so good, it certainly matched what Astoria had remembered. "That's quite a lot of islands to search," Harry pointed out.

"Well, yes," said Geomann. "And this is perhaps why the Cauldron has never been found. The young wizard was named 'Bridei Buan', but what he went on to do with it is lost to time, I'm afraid."

With a flick of his hand, Harry summoned the map that was usually stuck to the wall of his office, and it flew over to rest gently on the desk. He looked over the islands. "Well, let's see if we can narrow it down at least a bit," he said.

"What else do we know?" he asked. He circled the main island first. "Surely we can skip this one. If something was hidden there, it would have been found by now, right?"

"Rousay is a possibility," said Geomann, pointing his finger to the island in question. "There's a long history of wizarding settlement there, at least."

"What about this one?" said Diana as she pointed at another of the islands. It was not especially large, but it was obvious why it had drawn her eye. It was separated away from the others in a little square of its own. That meant it was unplottable. He recognised the name immediately. The Isle of Drear, the home of the fearsome quintaped.

A terrible suspicion floated up from the dark depths of his mind. "Is there any connection between the wizard's name and the MacBoons?"

"Some have posited the possibility," said Geomann. "But it is hard to substantiate, given the tendency the current MacBoons have towards killing any and all creatures who set foot on their island."

"'MacBoon' does seem as if it could be a patronymic name rooted in the name of Bridei Buan," said Diana thoughtfully. "His name, I think, means something like 'Bridei the Enduring'. Or perhaps 'Bridei the Swift' if the epithet was originally Pictish. Either way, the MacBoon name, if they are related, would be 'son of the enduring one'. It is not so far-fetched."

"If the cauldron is indeed hidden on Drear, then it would certainly explain why efforts to find it have been unsuccessful," said Geomann, looking a little put out.

Harry was silent for a while as he considered his options. The Isle of Drear was certainly one of the most dangerous places in the world. In the early nineteenth century the Ministry had tried to remove the quintapeds from the island after all attempts to reverse the transfiguration had failed, and had assembled a task force of more than a hundred witches and wizards. Less than three hours after they'd departed to the island by portkey, three had returned by the same method. They were the only survivors, and the next week the Isle of Drear had been declared 'Terra Incognita'. No further ground expeditions to the island had ever been approved.

There had been one or two fly-overs since then, but even those were not without danger. The MacBoons could jump to ridiculous heights, and seemed to be able to see fliers even when concealed beneath every charm they could manage.

If he took the question to his boss, the answer would almost certainly be to wait and see. The chances that a witch of Daphne's strength could survive for long enough to even begin searching for the Cauldron were minimal.

The only problem with that logic was the minor issue of Superman.

"How much do you know about quintapeds?" Harry asked Geomann eventually.

"The legend of their creation, of course," he said quickly. "There are many who think that the legend has become rather garbled, and that it might have been the MacBoons themselves who first created quintapeds, and that their creations consumed them first, before doing the same to the McCliverts."

That was potentially useful information. At the very least, if they were not transfigured humans then perhaps their intelligence might not be such a big concern. "What about their strengths and weaknesses? I know they are highly resistant to most magic."

"According to the survivors of the 1823 expedition, they are effectively immune to all direct magic," said Geomann. "They saw some limited success using conjuration, but all injuries only seemed to enrage the quintapeds, and they healed extremely quickly. They were also reported to have some ability to sense apparation and other methods of magical travel from a great distance."

That matched what Harry remembered. If conjuration was able to damage the creatures, then surely Superman would be able to do some significant damage. What worried him most was Superman's speed. There was a very real chance that Superman could search the entire island in less than the blink of an eye. No matter how dangerous the quintapeds might be, Superman's speed could render them completely irrelevant.

He looked over to Diana. "What do you think, sound like something you want to try tangling with?"

"I have fought the very beasts of Tartarus," she said. She certainly didn't lack confidence. "It would be best if I knew more, however, before we do this."

Harry gave her a very quick description of what he knew of quintapeds. Bigger than the heaviest gorilla, covered in thick ginger fur, with five limbs, each ending in a club-foot. They didn't really have a proper head, and instead they had a huge tooth-lined mouth on top of their body. They were also perpetually in a state of violent rage, and there were stories of quintapeds killing themselves in their attempts to rip unlucky wizards limb from limb.

"As long as they do not have any magical method with which they can attack, I think they will be within my capability," she said firmly.

Silently, Harry agreed with her. Her speed and strength would hopefully be enough to manage them. If nothing else, her ability to fly would surely allow her to escape if she was in danger of being overwhelmed.

He really hoped that wouldn't happen, as if it did, he'd be right up shit creek. "In that case," he said as he stood up. "I don't suppose you'd care to join me in a little trip to the Isle of Drear? We'll leave just as soon as I can get a team together."

Diana nodded, and was about to speak when Geomann beat her to the punch. "Are you mad?" he cried, looking between them in abject horror. "Did you not hear me when I said a task force of more than one hundred was wiped out by those creatures?"

"I heard you," said Harry evenly. He was actually quite impressed with how he managed to keep his voice from wavering even slightly. He'd done more than his fair share of mad things, but it looked like his next would hold a special place in history. It might well also get him fired. "Can you see yourself out? As you might imagine, there's quite a lot I need to get organised before we leave."

"Like your wills, I hope," Geomann muttered. For a moment it looked like he was going to try and object again, but in the end he said something that sounded like 'your funeral' and loped quickly from the room.

It took a few minutes for Harry to round-up all the on-duty aurors who were not out on some assignment or other. There weren't many. Even during Voldemort's first rise to power, when they'd been most numerous, their number had never exceeded twenty or so individuals. Bones, Quigley, Williamson and McDonald were all present, even if Bones and Quigley were meant to be off-shift. Besides them there was only Padma who wasn't, strictly speaking, an auror even if she had completed the training and apprenticeship, and Williamson's auror apprentice, Mirabelle Smith. Once they were all standing together in the middle of the auror department Harry conjured a little pedestal and stepped up on top of it so that he could be seen by everyone he was addressing.

"You all need to understand that what I'm about to ask of you is _not_ an order," he said first. It was a very important distinction to make. "What I'm about to explain is going to be very, very dangerous, and for that reason I will only be taking volunteers, and there is no shame at all in opting not to join in.

"We believe that our best lead on where Daphne is going to be headed next is the Isle of Drear."

Given that the assembled witches and wizards were aurors, they put it together pretty quickly. Mostly, they looked shocked that Harry would so much as consider such a thing, but Harry noticed that Bones was at least trying to take the announcement in her stride, even if tension in her posture betrayed her. Smith looked positively excited.

"The Isle of Drear is off-limits," said Williamson, his arms firmly crossed. Harry had expected nothing less from the man.

"Fortunately for me, I have the authority to relax that ban," said Harry evenly.

The power to do so rested solely with the Wizengamot, the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Head of the Auror Office. Even after the disaster of 1823 they had recognised the possibility that a dark witch or wizard might try and use the Isle to hide from the law, and a clause had been added which Harry intended to use to its fullest. In theory he still needed to consult with the Minister, but it didn't say he had to do that _before_ going there. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, after-all.

"I will be going to the Isle of Drear, alongside Wonder Woman" —She waved at them from her spot next to Harry— "and whichever of you decide to join me. I warn you, however, that I cannot guarantee even my own safety, and it's entirely possible we may all end up dead."

"I'll join!" said Smith immediately, waving her hand in the air enthusiastically.

"No you bloody-well won't," said Williamson, though it was really more of a growl. "You're my apprentice, and you're not going anywhere without my say-so."

"But sir, this is what you've been training me for," said Smith. Harry found himself admiring her spunk, even if privately he did agree with Williamson.

"If you think this kind of hair-brained bollocks is what I've been training you for then the lessons clearly haven't been getting through that thick skull of yours."

"Smith," said Harry, drawing attention back to him. "You need to understand that this isn't an adventure. The only way stories get told about this is if it goes very wrong indeed. You've got a bright future ahead of you, and you've got a family that loves you. Don't go all in on this for the wrong reason. Think it through. Weigh the options like you've been taught."

"Well, I guess I'm in," said Bones while Smith was digesting Harry's words.

Quigley immediately followed his partner. Padma was going to volunteer too, until Harry caught her eye and shook his head minutely. If everything really did go to shit he needed her around to pick up the pieces.

Next to speak was McDonald, who looked very apologetic as he said: "Sorry, pal. You know I've got the wedding coming up."

"No need for that," said Harry evenly. "This isn't the job. I want you to keep up with the investigation while we're gone. If we're wrong, then I want some alternatives to pursue. Got it?"

McDonald looked relieved and nodded eagerly. "Aye, will do."

"Sir," said Smith finally, drawing his attention back to her. She'd been quiet while the others were making their decisions, but she finally looked like she'd come to her own conclusion. "I've thought about everything you've said, and I still think I want to help."

Harry regarded her for a long moment. She looked barely old enough to be out of Hogwarts, really. Short, willowy with long blonde hair, she could probably pass for sixteen with the right clothes, but he also knew her to be very talented with a wand, as all aurors had to be. In the end, he'd given her the choice, he couldn't take it away just because he thought she'd come to the wrong conclusion. That wasn't how choices worked.

"Okay," he said nodding firmly. "But you stay right next to me, right? I take point, and no unnecessary heroics."

"Yessir!" She saluted, and grinned broadly. "Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."

"At ease, soldier," was Harry's dry reply.

o-o

The Isle of Drear was true to its name. They arrived in a fine mist of sea-spray and rain. The portkey deposited them on a small headland, though even that was giving it more credit than it was probably due. Really, it was a narrow spit of rock and sand that the North Sea was busily attempting to drag beneath the waves.

The most important thing about it was that it was well away from the places where the quintapeds were known to gather. It really wouldn't have boded well if the portkey dropped them all a few feet from a quintaped. Harry had no doubt that they were going to have to deal with them eventually, but the longer they could avoid it the better. Taking it slow over land gave them the best chances of being able to avoid a confrontation.

As soon as they arrived, they cast the old leather belt that had been their portkey aside. Each of them had their own portkeys for the return journey for maximum safety. The island wasn't protected by anti-apparation charms, but the distance back to London wasn't small, and if the shit hit the fan in a big way, the portkeys would be much more reliable than simple apparation.

Harry tapped himself on the top of the head with his wand. The familiar sensation of having an egg cracked over him followed, and he soon faded almost completely from view. It took a couple of minutes to get everyone concealed and silenced. The spells were simple enough, but every person had to cast their own charms on everyone else in order to be able to see and hear them through the disillusionment charms.

There were a couple of slight issues that had to be dealt with. The first was the glowing lasso that Diana carried with her, which stubbornly refused any and all efforts at magical concealment. In the end it was instead carefully concealed beneath the skirt-like flaps of her costume. It was far from perfect, but as long as she didn't take to the skies, he hoped it would be enough. The next problem had been how to keep Diana in contact with the rest of the group, as she was unable to cast the same spells everyone else could. No-one had ever thought it would be useful to allow one specific muggle the ability to see and hear a concealed wizard.

In the end, they gave up trying to find a solution, as Wonder Woman's heightened senses allowed her to perceive the tell-tale shimmer in the air of the Disillusionment Charm. So long as she didn't get lost, they could deal with some communications difficulties.

They then left their relatively safe little haven and set out towards the island proper.

It was not an especially large island, even compared to the rest of the Orkney Islands it was on the smaller side. There were only two known settlements on the island, which had been identified by wizards flying a safe distance away. One was ruined, and had come to be called McClivert, after the clan that had once supposedly occupied the island alongside the MacBoons. That was the closest of the two. On the other side of the island which, like the other Orkney islands, was mostly flat and treeless, with little in the way of cover, was the little collection of earthen huts that had been marked 'MacBoon' on the maps.

That was their destination, but first they had to get there.

"Keep close," said Harry to his small group. Their best hope was to get across the island without being noticed.

They walked over the narrow sand-bar that joined the little rock they'd arrived on and the main island. Behind them, their footprints whirled away into nothing in tiny little vortexes of sand. Because of their tendency to kill or eat everything that stepped foot on their island, the intelligence of quintapeds was unknown. Better to be safe than sorry.

When even Newt Scamander had given up on trying to understand them on his second attempt with the telling remark that they 'seemed happy enough where they are. Best not to disturb them', most right-thinking people had opted to leave them be.

As they climbed up from the beach, onto a grassy ridge that gave them a better view of the disconcertingly empty landscape of Drear, Harry couldn't help but wonder if that meant he wasn't 'right-thinking'. Probably.

Even from the top of their ridge, there was not much to see. A heavy fog lay over the whole island, and the air was so full of water droplets that they would already be soaked to the skin if not for impervious charms. Despite that, Harry had memorised the map of the island, and he was confident of where they needed to go.

Before they started descending, however, there was a thundering sound from down on the beach. From around the nearby headland, they caught their first sight of a MacBoon emerging from the fog.

It was probably a smaller specimen. Not as tall as a man, but it moved with incredible speed. Its five legs thumped over the beach in a blur, leaving a trail of thrown-up sand in its wake. It stopped suddenly at the base of the ridge, and turned this way and that. Droplets of water flew from its orange-brown fur as it spun from side to side. The huge mouth that often dominated all pictures of quintapeds was open atop its muscular central body, and Harry could easily see the rows of teeth that lined it.

There could be no doubt that it was a magical creature. There wasn't much space on its body that _wasn't_ mouth but just above it, nearly covered in fur, were two beady little eyes that were usually dark. Every now and then, though, they'd flash a dim shade of red. After a moment, Harry realised that the reason it was shuffling left and right was to allow it to look at the little tidal island on the other end of the sandbank with both eyes, without its foreleg getting in the way.

After a few seconds of inspecting the island, it took off again in an explosion of thrown-up sand and water. In less than a second it had reached the island, and from his vantage point, Harry watched it as it caromed around, looking for something that Harry hoped it would not find. Not long later, it reappeared atop the highest rock of the island, with an old leather belt clutched in its front limb. It let loose a loud multi-tonal cry that seemed to make the entire island vibrate until Harry realised it might actually just be his eyeballs that were vibrating. It was a singularly bizarre sensation.

Then, while Harry was still reeling, it stopped and threw the belt into the air. A moment later it disappeared into the many-toothed maw. Then the quintaped disappeared down behind the rock once more.

Harry tapped Diana on the shoulder, drawing her gaze back to his shrouded form, and said to the rest of the group, "I think we'd best get moving." Something about their arrival had tipped the creature off, and he didn't want to give it the chance to track them down. Some magizoologists had raised the possibility that quintapeds were actually arcanovores, which was why they'd elected to avoid magical methods of travel across the island. That was how they'd explained the fact that the wizards who'd mapped the island from far above, under the protection of many concealment charms, had seen their every movement followed by dozens of the creatures.

He just hoped that whatever method the creatures used to sniff out magic wasn't acute enough to pick out the effects of the concealment charms.

They moved as quickly as they could, which over the relatively flat, if occasionally boggy, terrain of the island was a respectable pace. As they moved, Harry stayed at the front of the group, and he made sure Susan stayed at the back. Her job was to keep an eye out for any MacBoons circling around behind them.

Soon, the McClivert village came into sight, and as Harry had expected it barely even warranted the term 'ruined'. If the stories were to be believed, the last time it had been populated had been hundreds of years ago, and the climate of Drear was not kind to anything left outside for that amount of time.

The only reason there was anything recognisable as a village was the type of building it had once hosted. They were built into the ground, with large stones set into the walls, and the roofs barely above ground-level. Or, so Harry assumed. After so long, there was not even the smallest sign of the roofs remaining. Either rotted or blown away by the frequent gale-force winds that scoured the island, ensuring that nothing taller than grass could grow there.

Harry reached out to stop Diana from heading down to the village. "We should give it a wide berth," he said to the rest of his team. "There's too many potential hiding spots down there."

It only took a little prompting to get Diana to follow them as they skirted around the jumble of ruined buildings. It took far longer than heading through the middle might have done, but Harry's cautious approach was soon proved correct when another MacBoon, perhaps a little larger than the one on the beach emerged from one of the ruins. It climbed up over the rocky lip, and looked around, though once again Harry had no idea what it was looking for.

Fortunately, it seemed to have no idea that they were there. It ambled from one of the ruined buildings to another with no sign of the same frenetic energy that the one on the beach had shown. It turned around a few times, trampling heavily upon the ground of the new ruin, before settling itself into the depression in the dirt, seemingly uncaring of the misty rain that had covered its matted orange fur in little droplets.

Under the cover of their charms, they continued around the ruined village, making sure to stay a healthy distance from all of the buildings. There was nothing to say that the quintaped they'd seen was the only one nearby.

The walk to the MacBoon village was much longer, and it was nearly two hours later that they caught sight of it. The walk had been uneventful, with only the occasional sighting of a flash of orange fur as they bounded past them on their way to wherever it was they were going. Occasionally the strange call could be heard echoing across the island. Sometimes it would be a lone quintaped, and other times there might have been a dozen or more. It was hard to tell.

What worried Harry was that although the sightings of quintapeds had become less frequent as they walked, the number of calls had increased. More importantly, they sounded as if they were getting nearer. He sincerely hoped that it was simply because they were getting closer to the village where, by all accounts, the quintapeds gathered most densely. He didn't like the idea that they might be being driven by the creatures.

They crested a small rise, and Smith called out: "Quintaped ahead! On the right."

They all stopped, and Harry looked in the direction she was pointing. On the other side of the low hill, a quintaped was indeed scraping at something in the dirt. Harry held out his hand to stop Diana from continuing, as he knew she wouldn't have heard Smith's warning.

"Back up slow," said Harry. He wasn't about to take any chances.

Slowly, carefully, they all backtracked a short distance away from the preoccupied quintaped. When they reached the bottom of the hill, Harry felt Diana tap his shoulder, and she pointed up towards where they'd been standing not moments before.

The quintaped had moved, and was pacing back and forth atop the hill. Unlike the others they'd seen, its mouth faced downwards. A large purple tongue lolled out onto the ground, and a rumbling sound escaped from the creature. It turned left and right, searching for something only it could identify. Then it started descending the hill slowly towards them.

As it did so, Harry realised what was happening. It was following their path almost exactly, and its tongue flicked back and forth as it moved, testing, probing the ground. Every point the tongue touched was one of their concealed footprints. The magic that concealed all visible trace of their passing was surely faint enough that even a veteran Spell Sniffer would have had trouble following them, but the quintaped was picking up speed as it descended towards them.

"Cancel the undetectable passage charms!" said Harry. With a flick of his wand, his own was removed. The others quickly followed. "Bones, Quigley, you go around the hill on the right. The rest of us will go left. If there's still a trail to follow, hopefully it'll get confused."

He tapped Diana on the shoulder again, and prodded her in the correct direction. He was sure she was very confused by what was happening, with their inability to communicate with her, but she seemed to understand well enough, and together they moved quickly away from their magical trail.

Just in time too. Something about the four of them cancelling their spells at the same time tipped the quintaped off. It paused and stared right at where they'd been then, no more than a few seconds after they'd moved away, it thundered down what remained of the hill in a storm of furry limbs. It came to an abrupt halt exactly where they'd been standing when they'd separated.

Once again, it twisted back and forth, its five legs beating heavily against the ground as it looked one way, then the other. Then it stopped, and those dark eyes flashed red. In a bizarre motion, it tossed itself into the air, where it twisted, and its joints seemed to reverse. When it landed, it was upside down, or upside up, Harry wasn't sure. The important thing was that the tooth-filled mouth was on the top.

"Move faster," said Harry as he shoved Smith to the front. There was no way he was going to let the rookie of the group act as rear-guard.

It didn't matter, even before they'd made it two more steps, the quintaped surged forward with such a burst of speed that it was only thanks to Harry's training that he was able to react in time. His wand flashed, and a shield of pure molten gold grew up from the ground. In moments it had encompassed all three of them, and Harry saw Diana out of the corner of his eye, looking around.

The quintaped collided with the shield with all the force of the Hogwarts Express under full steam. It held, but there was more than just sheer force behind the quintaped's attack.

It pressed itself up against the shield, it's rear legs digging into the earth with the force of it, while the front leg pressed harder and harder against the supposedly impenetrable wall. Slowly, the shield began to give way.

It was almost like the hair on the quintaped was burning the magic away. Where it touched the shield it glowed like fire, and the once golden shield faded into a dirty brown. The area the quintaped was pressed against was like a huge weal on the surface of the shield.

With his free hand, Harry cancelled his own concealment charms. He then re-cast the shield, only slightly smaller.

"Smith, stay hidden, but don't go far," he said through gritted teeth. He'd never had to _fight_ to keep a shield up before. "Diana, I think I'm gonna need a hand here."

He saw her nod beneath the concealment charms that he had not removed. Perhaps they'd lend a little extra surprise factor in the fight.

Even in the time it took to speak, the quintaped had almost burned through the new shield. It had climbed right on top of the shield, and Harry could see the prehensile purple tongue pressing through the shield at its weakest point.

Then, quite suddenly, it jumped off. It took a moment for Harry to realise what had happened, but the sound of spellfire outside the shield jolted him into action.

"Shit, they're trying to fight it!"

He dropped the shield immediately, and was greeted by the sight of the quitaped bearing down upon Susan and Quigley, who'd taken the high-ground at the top of the rise. As he watched, Quigley summoned a wall of fire which he sent down the hill at the quintaped which didn't even bother to avoid it. Instead, it barrelled straight through it like it was little more than an illusion. Susan followed the attack up with hundreds of stony hands which reached up to grab the creature's feet, and was rewarded when it very nearly lost its footing.

Sadly, an animal with five feet is very difficult to trip up, and it was barely even slowed. Moments before it reached the two aurors at the top of the hill, they apparated down to where Harry, Smith and Diana were standing.

"Nothing sodding touches it!" Susan shouted before the crack of her hasty apparation had even faded away.

There was no time to answer. Instead, Harry conjured a long spear, and with another twitch of his wand, it went flying at the quintaped at almost supersonic speeds. As they'd seen before, the quintaped jumped into the air with a prehensile grace, and as it twisted in the air, the tongue snaked out and grabbed the spear as it flew by. It paused just long enough to consume the spear whole, then it was charging down the hill at them again.

The others saw what Harry was trying to do, and each conjured or transfigured their own missiles to send at the creature, but its speed and unpredictability left every one of them either missing, or consumed.

Then Diana darted forward, sword in hand, and shield unslung from her back. She collided with the creature with enough force that her shield rang like a gong. Her sword flashed at the nearest flailing arm, and the creature wailed out a ghastly sound as it reeled back. She'd bought herself only the barest of moments before it was on her again. This time it decided to take advantage of the fact that it had the greater number of available limbs. Two of its forelimbs ripped the shield from her grasp in a show of strength that was terrifying to behold, while another held her sword at bay.

That didn't look good. "Pull her back!" he shouted to his awe-struck companions. He didn't care who did it, so long as one of them did. At the same time, he cast a switching spell on the earth beneath the quintaped's feet, excavating a hole nearly ten feet deep, and filling the air above it with soil and stones. Diana would surely have fallen in if she hadn't been yanked backwards by at least two different summoning spells.

The quintaped made a strange whistling noise when it dropped into the hole with a thump that Harry could feel through his feet. Then things got worse for it as the soil and rocks that had previously been under its feet fell down on top of it, filling the hole up once more.

Diana pushed herself up from the ground where she'd fallen, and Harry was glad to see she didn't look any the worse for wear. "That creature was much stronger than I was expecting," she admitted as she shook her head. "I should not have underestimated it."

She walked up to the patch of displaced earth, and picked up her sword and shield, which Harry had managed to avoid dropping into the pit with the creature. As she picked up her sword, the earth shifted slightly, before settling again.

Then it exploded outwards, and they were all peppered with bits of earth and stone. The quintaped emerged, mouth agape, and tongue lolling to the side as its eyes flashed and spun wildly.

Diana did not hesitate, and drove her sword straight through its abdomen, before tearing it back out again to one side. A trail of thick purple blood sailed through the air, and splattered over the thoroughly trampled grass. The quintaped thrashed madly as it refused to acknowledge its own death, and loosed another multi-tonal sound, like a giant set of bag-pipes being stamped on by an angry elephant.

Finally, the sound trailed off, and silence descended again. Then, in the distance, from all over the island, it was echoed a dozen, a hundred times or more.

"We need to get moving," said Harry, and everyone agreed. Those calls did not sound friendly.


	10. Chapter 10

They couldn't afford to waste time. While they were still reapplying their concealment charms, Harry started leading them away from the dead quintaped as quickly as he could manage.

"We might be able to skip the silencing charms," said Susan as she jogged behind Harry. "We tried to distract the quintaped back there by shouting, and it didn't even seem to notice."

Harry thought about the suggestion for a few seconds. If Susan was right, and the quintapeds were deaf, then forgoing their silencing charms would certainly help their coordination. On the other hand, if she was wrong, they might have to deal with another fight far sooner than he'd like.

"I'll drop my silencing charm," he said eventually. "Everyone else, keep them up. That way we test the theory without risking everyone."

"Harry, even if that is reasonable, there's no way it should be you," said Susan between breaths.

Finally feeling like they had some space between them and the dead quintaped, Harry slowed back to a regular walk. "I know, I know," he said. He knew she was right, but there was no way in hell he was going to order one of his team to do it. "But you know if there's anyone here who can deal with one of those things getting on their case, it's me."

He thought about that for a moment. "Well, actually, it's Diana. But removing her silencing charm doesn't really help us in any way."

"It should be me," said Susan, still clearly not happy with his logic. "My idea; my arse."

It was a reasonable point, and one that Harry was able to shoot down with ease. "Pulling rank here I'm afraid, Susan."

She grumbled a bit, and Harry knew he'd likely get an earful when they got back to the Ministry, but she accepted it. They climbed another small knoll, and paused when they got to the top.

Diana looked back in the direction they'd come and gasped. "There's dozens of them!"

Not only were there dozens, but more were arriving every second, Harry noted. From all over the island, they'd converged on the place where their little battle had taken place. He couldn't see much more than that though. Their bright orange fur stood out starkly against the dark greens, greys and browns of the island, but it also meant it was almost impossible to pick out any individual quintaped from a distance.

"What are they doing?" he asked. He knew Diana's senses were superior to his own. He could use a spell to improve them, but there was no way he was going to cast unnecessary spells so close to such a large group of quintapeds. "Can you see?"

She grimaced. "They are fighting over the remains of the dead. Much of it has already been consumed."

"They're cannibals!" said Smith, looking horrified by the thought.

"Are any of them following us?" Harry asked.

"No," said Diana, shaking her head. Harry could tell she was still watching them fight over the morsels of their fallen brother's flesh. "Not that I can see. They are all far too preoccupied."

That was a mercy, at least. Not wanting to waste any more time, Harry led them back down the other side of the small hill, and they continued their circular spiral path to the MacBoon village.

Soon it was in sight once more, and this time they could see the individual buildings. It was very different from the McClivert village on the other side of the island. Where the McClivert buildings barely even deserved the name, the MacBoon village looked as if it had been destroyed recently. Some of the earthen roofs were still intact, and a few doors hung loose on their hinges.

"Superman was here," said Diana, as she looked upon the scene before them.

She was right, Harry realised quickly. There were thin traces of burned grass here and there, and the damaged buildings looked very much like the aftermath of one of Superman's more conspicuous battles. "What about quintapeds?" Harry asked, as he scanned the buildings himself for any sign of them. "Can anyone see one?"

"Nothing," said Susan, and she was soon echoed by Smith and Quigley.

Diana took a little longer to respond, but eventually she spoke, "I do not see anything suspicious."

Which was suspicious in itself, to Harry's thinking. He'd heard the calls that had gone up when they'd killed the quintaped earlier, and most of them had come from the direction of the MacBoon village. Had they all gone out in search of their fallen… friend?

"What about a detection spell?" Smith asked hesitantly.

It was a reasonable question. After all, it was normal procedure when hunting dark witches and wizards, but quintapeds were something entirely different. "You know how the spell works," he said as he shook his head. "If the quintapeds are as sensitive to magic as they seem, there's no way they won't be able to sense us long before we can see them. That one on the beach was able to detect our portkey from who knows how far away."

"Perhaps you should all remain here," said Diana as she scanned the buildings again. "I can move faster than a quintaped, and I can fly too. I could check all of the buildings and bring you whatever I find. If I am unable to find anything, then at least we will know if it is safe for you to check with your magic."

Harry couldn't fault the logic. "Seems like a good idea. We'll keep an eye out up here for any quintapeds coming home."

She flashed him a pleased smile, before she rose into the air gracefully and a moment later she was gone, with only a rush of air to announce her departure.

Harry tried in vain to track her search of the village, but she moved much too fast. By the time he was able to catch sight of the swirling eddies of dust and grass, she was already gone, moved on to the next building.

It took her barely any time to search every one of the houses, and less than a minute later she returned. As she descended slowly from the air to land lightly upon her feet, she said, "There's obvious signs of a struggle, but not a single quintaped in any of the houses."

"Right," said Harry. There was definitely something strange going on, but it was obvious Superman had beaten them to the village by at least some hours if the damage was anything to go by. Perhaps the quintapeds had abandoned the village as a result of the big fight that had clearly occurred. "In that case, we go down. Diana, can you stay up high? If you see anything, shout."

"I understand," she said, before she rose once more into the air, spun, and flew off to hang in the air over the village.

Harry waved to Susan, Smith and Quigley, before he started walking towards the outermost buildings of the village. "We'll start in the centre and work out," he said, as they passed them by. "If they kept it anywhere, it would be in the middle."

The buildings weren't built to any kind of organisation that Harry recognised. There was nothing readily obvious as a road, and instead it was like every house had simply been built up wherever its owner had been standing when the idea occurred to them. They moved quickly and quietly though the village until they reached a larger open area, which was dominated by a much bigger long-house that seemed to have taken the brunt of whatever fighting had happened when Superman had come to search for the cauldron.

The interior of the long-house was completely trashed, with not a single piece of intact furniture remaining. The roof was almost completely collapsed, though a lot of it had exploded outwards rather than onto the floor of the building. Many of the large stones that formed the walls were cracked, knocked free, or missing completely and the gaps and holes they left had soil spilling through them onto the floor.

If the cauldron had been there, it certainly wasn't anymore.

""Diagnostic spells," said Harry after a moment's thought. It was entirely possible that they would draw the quintapeds in like moths to a flame, but there was really no other option. He briefly considered being the only one to do the diagnostic spells, but in the event the quintapeds did sense the magic, they could cover more ground in their limited time with all four of them working the problem.

They all cast their diagnostic charms over different portions of the ruined building, with Harry taking the centre, where a fire-pit had once dominated the space. After the fight, it was just as ruined as every other part of the building, but the remains of what once had been were obvious enough.

As the misty magic spilled from his wand, illuminating any tiny trace of magic it could find, Harry almost thought the spell wasn't working at all. There was nothing at all that turned up, not even the faintest remnants of spells long forgotten.

"You got anything?" he called out to his companions.

Only Smith had found anything. "There's some blood here," she said as she pointed to a few dark droplets on the floor.

"Good find," said Harry as he moved over to take a look himself. He cast his own diagnostic charms on it. "It's from a magical," he said, peering at it more closely.

"Is it from Greengrass?" Smith asked.

"Probably," said Harry. It looked fresh, and there shouldn't be any other magicals in the area. "Take a sample to get checked out."

Even as he spoke, Diana descended through one of the holes in the roof. "They're coming, and in great numbers. I hope you found something."

"Shit," said Harry. They must have sensed their magic use. Part of him wanted to stay, to keep checking, but he knew that was stupid. One quintaped had been more than enough of a problem for them. "Right, portkeys. Now."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the portkey that had been prepared for their departure. He held it out for Diana to touch, then tapped it with his wand. As it activated, he felt _something_ but it wasn't the tell-tale yank of a working portkey. Instead, all it managed was throwing them each to the ground.

Without stopping to think about what that could mean, Harry pushed himself to his feet, grabbing Smith as he did so to help her up too. "Try to apparate, now," he commanded. He could hear the thundering of hundreds of club feet as they closed in on them with alarming speed.

He grabbed Diana's hand, and twisted on his heel, mirroring the actions of Smith, Susan and Quigley. None of them went anywhere. It was like the air around them was made of lead, and their attempts at apparation failed completely. Not unexpected given the fact that the portkeys had failed, but Harry had hoped that maybe some of them would be able to push through the strange resistance.

It wasn't like an anti-disapparation jinx, which felt more like a giant hand which would yank the witch or wizard back, out of their apparation. Instead, it felt like trying to walk through solid rock.

It was obvious that Smith and Quigley were not far from panicking, but Harry knew he had to keep his cool. He'd been in worse situations, he was sure, even if he couldn't remember what they might have been right at that moment.

"Physical barricades!"

His wand started moving in a blur. First, he repaired the roof of the building, and layered every kind of unbreakable and toughness charm he could think of over it. As he did that, Susan levitated one of the larger displaced rocks and used it to block the doorway.

"I hate to be the one to ask this," she said as she directed it into place, "but how are we planning on escaping?"

"I could carry you all to safety," said Diana.

Harry hadn't even considered that possibility. It was definitely better than fighting their way out. "Do it. Sticking charms, and hold on tight."

Smith and Quigley both grabbed onto her arms, holding on tight despite the sticking charms. Diana lifted slowly into the air, completely unbothered by the weight of them. Then Susan hung from the golden lasso cinched to Diana's waist, her wand free in case anything went wrong.

In the time it took them to do that, the quintapeds had almost completely torn apart the hastily constructed defences. As soon as a hole appeared in the roof overhead, Diana took to the air.

"Hold on tight!" she said, accelerating upwards.

A moment later, Harry's falcon animagus form leapt into the air behind her. He flapped his wings rapidly to gain altitude.

The quintapeds weren't about to let them go so easily, however. As he fought his way higher, Harry risked a quick look down, and saw the creatures swarming all around the long-house. He saw their beady little eyes follow each of them as they rose quickly into the air. Diana was able to far outpace him, but she was also the most obvious target.

Then they leapt. Like they'd seen before, when the quintaped before had flipped in mid-air, they seemed to explode upwards. One of the larger ones jumped so high and so fast, that it snapped at Susan's feet, and she only narrowly avoided losing one by pulling them up at the last second.

They were not out of the woods yet, though. Another, even larger than the last, launched itself upwards at them. Harry saw immediately that it would reach Diana and her passengers with ease. He did the only thing he could. He transformed back into his human form, and intercepted the creature with a slab of conjured lead which dissolved rapidly as soon as it came into contact. It lasted just long enough to knock the quintaped aside.

He started falling back, and was about to transform back into his bird form when he felt a grip as strong and as unyielding as steel grasp his foot.

A few things happened at once. First, a bizarre coldness settled over him, not completely unlike the effects of a dementor nearby. There was no screaming, unless you counted the distant shouts of alarm from Smith, but something was very definitely wrong. He tried to transform, hoping desperately that the quintaped would lose its grip on him as he did. The change did not come.

Like the power that somehow stopped every attempt at apparating away, that cold feeling descended over him, and the transformation simply would not come. He could feel it. He could feel his own magic reaching out to the falcon, but it shied away. Instead, he was left nearly helpless as he was pulled closer to the wide-open mouth of the quintaped.

A bright red spell splashed uselessly against it, surely the first thing Susan could think to cast. The dirty orange fur that covered the beast glowed like fire where the spell hit, but the creature was unperturbed.

It was almost like it was happening in slow motion. He felt himself falling back down to the earth, and he watched as Diana slowed in her ascent. In that moment he caught her eye, and saw the indecision there.

"Go!" he shouted.

Despite her obvious unwillingness, he saw her reach the same conclusion he had. If she tried to help him, she would probably only doom her current passengers.

Harry didn't have time to say anything more, though. If he wanted to live for more than the next few seconds, he knew he had to act quickly. Apparation, or any other kind of translocation was seemingly out, so his only real option was to try and find some way to fight them. He only had to buy himself a little while.

Wind rushed in his ears, and the quintaped that was still holding onto him pulled him closer, seemingly more intent on eating him than it was worried about the rapidly approaching ground. He pointed his wand at Wonder Woman's already rapidly retreating form, and yelled an incantation that was lost in the howling winds, but the spell worked.

So fast that it actually hurt, Wonder Woman's intricately decorated sword flew into his hand, and without wasting a moment, he swung it at the arm holding onto him with every ounce of his strength. He had no idea what the sword was made from, but it cleaved through flesh, sinew, and bone with ease. The quintaped screeched in either pain or rage, it was impossible to tell which, as blood pumped from the stump.

It tried to spin in the air, remaining arms flailing wildly. An arm reached out to grasp him again, but the ground was approaching far too quickly. Harry had barely enough time to arrest his own momentum before they both landed upon the ground. The bone-cracking collision between quintaped and the solid earth was sickening, but Harry landed lightly enough that he barely even felt his own touch-down.

His problems were far from over, however, as he was still surrounded by dozens of quintapeds. More arrived every second, drawn either by his own spell-usage, or the incessant calls of their brethren. He'd landed only a short distance away from the bulk of them. Far too close for comfort.

At least Diana and the rest of his team were well out of their reach. He tried again to change into his falcon form, but it still would not come. Surely some lingering effect from the quintaped. He'd have to find some way of fighting.

All he needed to do was avoid dying for the minute or two it would take Diana to get back. It was pretty simple if he put it like that. There was no point in trying to run, he could probably only manage a couple of steps in the time it would take the quintapeds to cover twenty times that distance. Instead, he decided to try and hold his ground.

He adjusted his grip on Diana's sword, and momentarily wondered if he was going to get told off for taking it like he had. Really, in the circumstances, that might be the best possible outcome.

The quintapeds were closing the distance rapidly. Thinking quickly, he spun his wand in his hand, and drove it into the ground. The earth around him, out to a distance of nearly a hundred meters, turned into something with the consistency of quicksand. The first quintapeds to reach the patch of earth thrashed madly as they started sinking, but then Harry felt the transfiguration start to slip, as he'd felt his other magic fail when it came into contact with the creatures.

Around the half-sunken quintapeds, the transfiguration quickly failed, and they were left stuck deep in the earth. They flailed and cried, and tore at the earth around them with whatever free limbs they had. It wouldn't take them long to free themselves, but it bought Harry time as every step they took sunk into the earth before it set hard around them.

Next, he raised his wand high, and from it issued inky black clouds that expanded quickly in the air above his head. He felt the pressure drop almost instantly, and heavy rain and hail, nearly as large as snitches, started to fall. He transfigured the hailstones into iron, steel, copper, any metal he could think of in the hope that one or more of them might better resist the quintapeds' ability to drain magic. Then he sent them rocketing across the open space towards the horde.

They cried out when they were hit, but it sounded less like pain or fear, and much more like surprise to Harry's ear. A bigger problem was brewing, however, as many of the quintapeds were opting to avoid the mire, and instead had started gathering all around the perimeter. He was able to count nearly thirty of them, of all different sizes. The smallest was no bigger than a large dog, but the largest was truly gigantic. It was taller than even Aragog had been, and surely far heavier.

Then, one of the larger ones decided to simply try and jump over Harry's transfiguration. It was obvious that it was going to easily make the jump, and Harry knew he couldn't allow that. His wand flashed again, and a bolt of lightning arced from the dark cloud that was already swirling overhead. With a blinding flash, and a sizzle of flesh, it struck the creature in its centre of mass, drawing a pained screech that surely could have shattered windows. It fell into the mire, and sunk a small way before the ground around it set hard.

For a moment, Harry thought it was dead, or at least incapacitated, but its legs, which Harry had thought were completely stuck, with their club feet waggling uselessly at the sky, reticulated backwards upon themselves, and the quintaped pulled itself from the solid earth with seeming ease.

Harry saw muscles tense beneath its orange fur as it readied itself to jump at him again, but he didn't give it the chance. He engorged a stone, transfiguring it into a slab of lead nearly a foot thick, which he sent at the quintaped with meteoric speed. He could feel the charms and transfiguration unravelling as the two collided, but it stood up better than the conjuration. It knocked the quintaped back, and left it reeling and unsteady on its feet.

It was a small victory, though. While he'd driven one of the larger ones back, the smaller ones were closing in, slowly but steadily. Another half a dozen of the larger ones readied themselves to jump at him.

Then the biggest one called out, and it felt almost like his insides had been turned to jelly. The sound vibrated through him, and the air was stolen from his lungs. He staggered, and tried to draw a breath that would not come. Then, just when he was about to lose his footing completely, that terrible noise stopped, and so did all the other quintapeds.

The huge quintaped was covered in scars and even had a few patches of grey in its matted orange fur. It started walking slowly towards him. So powerful was the effect it had on the magic around it that Harry's mire set hard in a wave before it, and each club-foot it set down met solid, untransfigured soil.

Banished hailstones evaporated before they could so much as touch the creature, and a desperate bolt of lightning fizzled to nothing, barely a spark by the time it reached its orange fur. It flashed weakly over the beast, but it was clearly unfazed.

With huge, deceptively slow steps it crossed the space with ease, completely unbothered by the spells Harry threw at it. Curses, jinxes, transfigured weapons and even a desperate gout of fire hot enough to melt iron simply petered out, or was extinguished in the air before it could so much as trouble the creature. Harry swapped Diana's sword over to his right hand and readied himself.

Behind the huge quintaped, a train of the smaller ones followed it, crossing on the bridge of untransfigured earth created at its passing. He really hoped Diana turned up soon.

Then, like an angel that had heard his pleas, she was there. Just as the huge quintaped was about to reach out to attack Harry, Wonder Woman's golden lasso whipped out from the clouds overhead, and bound the creature's arm tight.

The sound the huge quintaped made was bone-rattling, and Harry could feel the rage. It struggled against the lasso ineffectively, either trying to break it, or pull it from Wonder Woman's grip, but she held firm.

Instead, she spoke to the quintaped. It was a strange thing to see and hear. The sounds she made were alien, and yet there was that faint, unmistakable accent that he recognised as Diana's. The moment she spoke, the quintaped stopped struggling. Its beetle-black eyes locked onto her and flashed red.

The calls of the other quintapeds stopped too. Had they actually understood her?

"You can _speak_ to them?" Harry asked, not bothering to hide his incredulity.

"The Lasso allows me to learn the language of any creature," she said before saying something incomprehensible to the huge quintaped. Then it responded. It actually responded. Harry couldn't understand a word that was being said, and wouldn't have even known where to start if he wanted to try and mimic the sounds it was making, but there was no doubt there was comprehension there.

"He claims to be Quintius MacBoon, clan leader of his people," said Diana, as she descended slowly from the air to land beside Harry. "He demands that all outsiders should leave the island of his people."

"Tell him we came after Superman, and that he's searching for the _Pair Dadeni_ ," said Harry, thinking quickly. "All we need to know is if they still have it safe, or if it is lost."

Diana quickly translated for him, and the answer was returned almost immediately.

"He says that the skyman, Superman, did not find the cauldron, because it was taken many years ago," said Diana, translating as the quintaped continued speaking. "The Kings of the Old North learned of Bridei's theft, and killed many of his folk to reclaim it, long before the changing. They took it to… the lowland hundred? What happened to it after that, he does not care."

That, at least, was a place to start. "In that case. Perhaps we should get going," said Harry. The other quintapeds were crowding closer, and Harry had no desire to hang around longer than strictly necessary.

The huge quintaped, Quintius MacBoon, if Diana was to be believed, issued another strange rumbling sound.

"He says that we may leave, but only to bear word to the world beyond the waves," said Diana. "None are to set foot upon MacBoon land, under pain of death."

"I think we can manage that," said Harry drily. He certainly did not intend to return, at least.

"Then let's go," said Diana as she released the lasso from Quintius, clasping it back at her waist.

Then Diana took to the air, holding Harry firmly by his shoulders. This time, the MacBoons didn't try to stop their escape. Instead, as they rose higher into the sky, away from danger, Harry looked down to see a hundred pairs of beady black eyes flashing red as they departed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A minor clarification on languages in the last chapter:
> 
> There are two kinds of Insular Celtic languages: Goidelic (ex: Irish, Gaelic) and Brittonic (ex: Welsh, Cornish). Pictish is generally believed to be a Brittonic language, but it is almost completely unattested except for a few names. It was largely replaced by Gaelic later on. At the time of the Pair Dadeni myth, the Orkneys would have been Pictish, but by the time of Quintius MacBoon, they would be solidly Gaelic. Thus, there is some confusion, as 'Buan' has different meanings in Goidelic and Brittonic languages. He was called 'Buan' at the time, possibly meaning 'The Swift' in Pictish, but the story was recorded in Old Irish, in which it could mean 'The Enduring'. Things became further muddied when Gaelic became the dominant language, and surnames started to solidify, at which point the (by then Gaelic speaking) descendants of Bridei chose to call themselves 'MacBoon', incorrectly assuming Bridei's epithet was already Gaelic, thus getting them the 'son of the enduring one' translation, when that had not actually been his epithet.
> 
> Probably far more depth than anyone really wanted to hear, but I don't think it comes as a surprise to people who read Shadow of Angmar that I might delve rather deeper down that particular rabbit hole than strictly necessary.
> 
> Finally, to answer questions about which specific version of DC's characters I am using: None and all of them, though I am probably most heavily influenced by the Justice League animated series, and the recent movies. I'm pretty much trying to mix-and-match backstories from a bunch of different sources to come up with something familiar, and yet still different.


	11. Chapter 11

It might be easier to simply chuck Geomann in a holding cell. Once again, they needed his knowledge of the myths and legends of Old Britain, and once again Harry was left waiting for the man to come in.

"Must you insist on calling me away so frequently?" said Geomann as he entered the room. He had the same look of irritation often worn by Hermione after being interrupted. Quite what he'd been so busy with, Harry had no idea. Considering the lateness of the hour, he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know.

"Sorry for the interruption," said Harry though in truth he wasn't all that bothered. Whatever he was looking at had probably been buried for hundreds of years. It could no doubt stand to wait a few hours more. "We were able to get some information on a possible location for the Cauldron, but as this is all fairly time-sensitive, I decided to call you in again. I hope you understand?"

That took the wind out of his sails a bit, as Harry had hoped. It was certainly hard to argue with. "Well, I suppose that's…" He trailed off as the frustration bled out of his tone with every word. "Very well. What was it you discovered?"

"According to the MacBoons the Kings of the Old North allied together, and stole the Cauldron back, to hide it in a place they called the 'Lowland Hundred'," said Harry, as briefly as he could manage. "Does that ring any bells?"

"I'm sorry," said Geomann, holding up a hand. "Did you say 'according to the MacBoons'? You _communicated_ with them?"

"We did," said Harry, not going into any detail. There were more important things to deal with. "But please, the 'Lowland Hundred'?"

For a few seconds, Geomann looked put out at being brushed off so quickly, but he did eventually answer. "Well, the kingdoms of the Old North, or the Hen Ogledd, were around northern England and southern Scotland," he said, looking thoughtful. "Rheged, Gododdin and Strathclyde are the most well known."

"And this 'Lowland Hundred'?"

"Hmm," said Geomann, nodding vaguely as he stared into space at something Harry could not see. "I would need to confirm it, but I think that is likely to be a translation of the legendary Cantef y Gwaelod."

That was scarcely more helpful than what he'd had before. "And that is?"

"Well, some have called it the Welsh Atlantis," said Geomann, though he looked almost insulted at the idea. "Preposterous, if you ask me, as everyone knows Atlantis is a myth. Cantref y Gwaelod, however, is completely real. I have seen Caer Wyddno myself!"

That did ring a bell. "Caer Wyddno… You said there was a dig there or something?" He was sure he remembered Geomann talking about it when Harry had met with him at the Museum after the attack.

"Indeed!" Geomann looked positively overjoyed that Harry had remembered. "Caer Wyddno was the capital of the Kingdom, which was on an island in Cardigan Bay. If Iolanthe is to be believed then it may have been as large as Anglesey!"

"Wait," said Harry, as he suddenly realised that he apparently _did_ know about the island Geomann was talking about. "You mean the New Isle?"

 _That_ had been an interesting affair. Less than two months prior to the attack on the Museum, a small island had reared up out of the sea in the middle of Cardigan Bay. No-one was quite sure what had caused it. Some muggle fishermen nearby claimed to see 'fish men' locked in some kind of battle on the newly raised island, but they'd quickly been obliviated, and the island had been made unplottable. It had supposedly been a witch who had caused the island to sink by means of a well charmed to overflow, and it had been deemed too high-a risk if muggles had worked that particular detail out.

"Yes, well, when it was announced in the Prophet, we didn't know what we were looking at," said Geomann. He looked a little put out by Harry's mention of the name. "Now, we're sure we're looking at the lost Cantref."

"Well, that at least makes things a bit easier," said Harry, hopeful that maybe finding the Cauldron wasn't going to be as difficult as he'd feared before speaking to Geomann. "Thank you, Pavel."

"Of course," said Geomann, dipping his head in what he probably thought was magnanimity, but the effect was somewhat ruined when his glasses nearly fell off. "I'll tell Iolanthe and her team to expect you."

"Have you heard anything from them that might be related to the Cauldron?" Harry asked.

"I do not believe I have," said Geomann as he tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I am sure I would recall if something as important as that had been turned up."

That wasn't so helpful, but in the circumstances, Harry was simply grateful that the trail had not gone cold. He glanced at his clock, which readily informed him that he'd been at work for far too long already. He stood up, signalling to Geomann that their most recent meeting was done. "Well, thank you again for coming in," he said as he shook the man's hand. The handshake was surprisingly firm. "I'll let you get back to your job."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," said Geomann before he walked over to the door and pulled it open. He paused a moment on the threshold. "Forgive me for asking, but was there any sign of Miss Greengrass?"

"There was a lot of destruction on the island," said Harry, intentionally leaving out the blood they'd discovered. They hadn't had much opportunity to look at it properly, but they'd given it and a memory of the village to the unspeakables. Hopefully they'd be able to deduce something of use from it. "My gut says Daphne's still out there, though. I don't think the quintapeds got her."

Geomann's shoulders dropped, and he nodded slightly. "Thank you. I do hope you are right."

As Geomann left, Harry's eyes lingered on him for a moment before Padma replaced him in the doorway. She looked tired, but the intensity in her gaze told him that she was bearing important news.

"You're needed downstairs," she said without any preamble.

Harry groaned. "What is it now?"

"An emergency meeting of the ICW," said Padma, her voice utterly serious. "Shack's getting taken to the cleaners."

"What?" Harry nearly yelped as he jumped up from his chair. "On Level Ten?"

Padma just nodded, and Harry darted out of the room and towards the elevator.

The International Confederation of Wizards was ordinarily not something with which he concerned himself. He left all the political crap to either Shacklebolt or Robards, and was happy to do so. Not only were they infinitely better suited to it than he was, it also meant he could focus on actually making a difference, rather than constantly trying to placate a bunch of cowardly old duffers poking their noses into things they had no idea about.

With a quick tap of his wand, he overrode the charms on the elevator and, much to the disgust of the heavily be-warted lady already present, who may or may not have been a hag, sent it directly to Level Ten.

Since the 1600s, with a few brief periods of relative reasonableness, the ICW had been the premier method for witches and wizards, who were well known to be almost terminally nosy and gossip-prone, to snoop and offer comment on the goings-on of other countries.

With the two exceptions of magical Liechtenstein, which was really more of a historical curiosity in the modern era, and which consisted of just two slowly dwindling families, and Tasmania, every magical nation in the world had signed up. In the beginning, perhaps there had been a grander vision, but in the modern era it had only one purpose: Ensuring that the global wizarding community observed and abided by the Statute of Secrecy. Really, that had been the only piece of common ground the wizarding nations of the world had been able to find, and so that was the full extent of the ICW's purpose.

That meant that Harry had a very good idea of just what he was about to walk into.

The doors to the wizengamot chambers had been charmed shut, but once again his position as Head Auror meant that very few doors within the Ministry were ever truly shut to him. The Minister had the ability to charm their own office shut in such a way that Harry could not gain entry, and there were no doubt a few similar doors in the Department of Mysteries, but everything else was open to him.

He threw the doors open with as much dramatic flair as he could manage. A number of the witches and wizards inside jumped at the noise, and a few even tried to tell him off, but Harry simply ignored them, and strode into the centre of the room.

The grand wizengamot chambers, with its three layers of tiered seating, was more than half-filled by the hundred or so ICW representatives. He was surprised to see such a small number, but perhaps the short-notice nature of the meeting meant that many of the others were indisposed.

"My apologies," he said, not bothering to even try and look appropriately contrite. "It seems I missed my invitation to this emergency session."

"Potter!" said Robards, his eyes wide. He was almost certainly about to order him away again, or try to at least, when Minister Shacklebolt, who was standing next to him, silenced him with a meaningful cough.

It did not deter others, however.

"You did not miss it, boy!" said a grey-haired woman who wore flowing burgundy robes and the expression of one who had recently tried to swallow a particularly angry wasp. The Chancellor for the Brazilian Magical Commune, if Harry was not mistaken. "Your presence was not deemed necessary to the purpose of this meeting!"

"Is that so?" said Harry, one eyebrow raised. He met Shacklebolt's eyes, which flicked for the briefest of moments over in the direction of the American delegation. "Perhaps I jumped to conclusions then, and this is not about the events surrounding the muggle group known as the Justice League?"

"I don't see—"

Harry cut her off. "I thought so. Now, what seems to be the problem?"

There was a sound of uneasy shuffling from many of the representatives, as if they were small children who'd been caught out trying to get the biscuit tin down from the top of the cupboard. As Harry looked around again, he realised that the majority of those present were the representatives most in favour of more drastic action against the Justice League.

Shacklebolt had been evicted from his usual place, and in his seat at the end of the chambers, Babajide Akingbade, the Supreme Mugwump ever since Dumbledore's removal and subsequent death, sat. He was a tall man, resplendent in white robes, and with a huge ornate head-dress. "The matters concerning the ICW today regard events which occurred within the purview of MACUSA, not Wizarding Britain, and thus I do not see what your presence would bring to the proceedings."

Harry caught the eye of Carruthers who was standing beside the portly President Quahog. He was never the most sanguine of men, but as he gazed back, Harry could feel the heat of his anger. So that was their plan, cut Britain out of the response on some technicality?

"Well, I assume this is regarding the magical event which has placed the Justice League in some kind of stasis?" Harry asked, though he knew he wouldn't get a straight answer.

"The proceedings of the ICW are sensitive," said the Brazilian Chancellor. Apparently she felt buoyed by the support of the Supreme Mugwump. "They are not to be disclosed to parties to whom the events in question are of no concern."

"Ah, but you see that's where you're sadly misinformed," said Harry.

"That will be quite enough," said Akingbade. If he was hoping to be able to browbeat Harry into submission, he was surely in for an unpleasant surprise. "Much though you might wish to think otherwise, you are _not_ Albus Dumbledore, and as such, Mr. Potter, I ask you to remove yourself from the room or I will demand it be done for you."

"You can ask all you like," said Harry unfazed. "Demand away. See how that goes." He looked over towards where two aurors were stationed by the doors. McDonald and Nestry. Both young and impressionable, but good aurors that Harry trusted. "You guys want to take a break for five minutes? Maybe grab a cup of tea? I'll keep an eye on things here."

"What?" Robards just about yelped. "McDonald, Nestry, you will remain at your posts!"

Despite that, the two aurors scurried for the exit, obviously grateful for the opportunity to get out of the way of a potential wrecking ball, Harry turned back towards the room, and fixed Robarts with a glare. "If you'd like to submit a claim concerning their failure to follow your orders, I will of course give it the attention it is due." Which was none, of course.

"Oh, just get on with it," growled Carruthers, his glare flicking from Harry to Robards, then Akingbade and back again. "It might be an alien concept to some of you people, but I actually have a job to do."

It took Akingbade a moment to compose himself, but when he did, he said to Carruthers: "Yes, hm. Well. What have you to say to the reports that the 'hero' known as Superman has gained magical capability? I do believe this assemblage was assured that this was an impossibility less than a year ago."

It had been the one thing that had eventually swayed the ICW away from simply moving to immediately lobotomise most of the members of the Justice League. The threat was too great, many had argued. What if they became aware of magic? What if a meta-human was able to actually gain magical abilities? If their actions leaked the existence of the magical world to the muggles, then witches and wizards the world over could all be in danger.

Of course, despite the casual disregard most witches and wizards typically had for non-magical types, the thought of systematically lobotomising an entire group of people was one with which few had been comfortable. It was only the fear of being uncovered or, worse, the fear that a single being like Superman could challenge the safety of their entire world, that had even made it an idea worthy of consideration in their minds.

It had been Carruthers, amazingly, who had led the counter-movement. Superman, he said, was not only as weak to magic as any muggle, but it was completely impossible that he, or any of his people, could develop magic like that used by witches and wizards. They were not a threat, the argument went. So long as separation remained complete, the problems they all feared would never manifest.

When Harry and Shacklebolt had weighed in on Carruthers' side, along with many of their closer allies, things had turned in their favour, and the Supreme Mugwump had deferred the voting date indefinitely rather than risk losing such an important resolution. Despite Harry's best-efforts, however, the issue had never truly gone away. Carruthers' solution was based on the idea of an American-style separation between the magical and the muggle, but much of the rest of the world, particularly in Asia and Africa, had much closer ties between the two worlds.

It hadn't been a problem for the first few months. Superman had been confined mostly to the continental United States, and the other heroes that had started cropping up had followed his lead. Then, however, things had started getting out of hand.

Starro was the first truly global meta-event, and it had certainly been an eye-opener, for more than one reason. Not only did it show the level of destruction that could occur when the new 'superheroes' met enemies who were more dangerous than the usual muggle criminal, but it also showed just how vulnerable the Statute of Secrecy was in the face of such attacks.

No witches or wizards had died, but during the climactic fight between the nascent Justice League and the gigantic, starfish-shaped alien, a muggleborn witch by the name of Mozell Dooley had decided to get involved. That fight had taken place in Hong Kong harbour, and was watched by thousands of cameras and billions of people.

Muggles had assumed Dooley was some other one-of-a-kind superhero, but it had sent the ICW into a tailspin.

"Superman hasn't gained any magical abilities," said Harry simply, hoping to cut their argument off at the knees before they could get started. "As such, I fail to see what is so urgent that this emergency session needed to be called with such a small proportion of the representatives able to make it."

"The reports are clear," said another wizard who might have been one of the Mongolian representatives. "Superman conducted some kind of ritual magic which resulted in the petrification of much of the rest of the so-called 'Justice League'. Do you dispute those reports?"

"I do." His gaze flickered to Robards who wore a stony expression that completely failed to conceal his involvement. Then, with a flick of his hand, Harry conjured an image of the urn which had caused so much trouble. "Whoever it was that made that report was sadly misinformed. This is the cause of the trouble. An ancient magical artefact has taken over Superman's mind."

"Even if what you say is true, we are still left with a being of Superman's capabilities, and who is now capable of performing magic," said the Brazilian representative sourly.

"Except he is still no more capable of magic than any other muggle," said Harry before turning to Director Carruthers. "I am sure you found that the actual magic was performed by a witch who was accompanying Superman?"

President Quahog was about to say something, but Carruthers got there first. "We did," he said firmly. "The muggle recordings found at the scene showed a witch, and one of the boys you sent over identified her as Daphne Greengrass."

"So there you have it," said Harry, as his gaze swept over the assembled witches and wizards. "We have a witch using unauthorized magic on muggles, and another muggle under the influence of a dark artefact. I do not see what is so urgent about this meeting. We are currently searching for Miss Greengrass, and really that is all that can be done."

"This Justice League still represents an unparalleled threat to our society!" said another voice from the crowd, but the lack of mumbled support that followed suggested that the politicians present saw that any excuse there might have been for the drastic action they wanted to take had evaporated with Harry's reveal.

"So did Albus Dumbledore," said Harry with a noncommittal shrug. "So do _you_. If all of you here decided to reveal us to the muggles, there would be nothing the rest of us could do. Not really. Does that mean I should arrest you all to make sure that can never happen?"

"You wouldn't dare!" said the Brazilian Chancellor. "We are—"

"Done here," said Harry. He was probably going to regret burning his bridges quite so completely, but he'd barely slept in the past three days, and was long past caring. "I think we can all see that this was just an unfortunate misunderstanding, and that it would be best if the respective law enforcement departments handled the issue. Do you not agree?"

"You—!"

"Enough," said Akingbade, cutting her off again. "Mr. Potter is correct, of course. This meeting was clearly premature, and precipitated by incomplete information." His glare flipped between Harry and Robards before he waved a hand and shimmered out of existence, the spells sustaining his image ended.

Soon, the other representatives did the same, and the room was left empty except for Harry, Shacklebolt and Robards.

"I see Miss Patil found you in good time," said Shacklebolt with a tired smile.

Except for a few extra worry-lines, the man was mostly unchanged by his years as Minister for Magic. One of the benefits of being bald, Harry supposed. No grey hairs to give him away.

"She did. What the hell happened there?" Harry turned his gaze towards Robards, knowing full well that there was really only one possibility for who it was that had caused the emergency session to be called.

Robards knew there was no hiding from it. "Perhaps if you felt the need to keep me properly inform—"

"Oh don't try and weasel your way out of this one, Gawain," said Harry, cutting the man who was, at least in theory, his boss off before he could finish. "You don't _want_ to know what's going on, so I suggest you butt out, and let me do my job."

"Now see here," said Robards. "I was acting on ICW advice to report such events."

"Maybe it would be best if you took a bit of a holiday, Gawain," said Shacklebolt. The gentleness of his tone belied the order that rested just beneath the surface. "I know you've been working very hard of late. I'm sure Mr. Potter has it all under control."

Robards spun, and was about to object, until he saw the expression on Shacklebolt's face. It was obvious that Robards had gone over the Minister's head to call the ICW emergency session, and there was no way that Shacklebolt was going to take something like that sitting down. He threw up his hands and stormed out of the chamber, slamming the door behind him as he left.

As the last echoes faded away, Shacklebolt turned to Harry. "You _do_ have it under control, don't you?"

Harry sighed. "Honestly? I don't know," he said tiredly. "We're currently chasing down millennia-old myths and legends in the hope that they'll lead us to Daphne, but I'm no bloody historian."

"What about Wonder Woman?" Shacklebolt asked as they walked towards the door together. "I was led to believe she had some knowledge in the area?"

"She's been helpful," Harry admitted. "I mean, Merlin, she actually _talked_ to the MacBoons. That's the only reason we know where to look next. She claims to only have a limited knowledge of old British myths though."

"You talked to quintapeds?" said Shacklebolt. Only someone who knew him as long as Harry had would have been able to detect the incredulity in his tone. "What did they say?"

"Mostly, that they didn't want wizards on their island," said Harry drily.

"That much, I think we had already surmised."

"Hmm," Harry agreed. "Besides that they said the Cauldron we think Daph—" Harry paused and checked to make sure no-one was nearby-enough to overhear. "—Herpo was looking for was taken back to some sunken island off the coast of Wales."

"Ah, yes. I think I know the island you're talking about," said Shacklebolt as he rubbed the top of his head thoughtfully. "I've had more than one request to make it a special, magical-only colony, but no-one seemed all that excited to follow up on it once they saw the actual island. Are you any further forward on what Herpo's goal may be?"

"At this point, it looks like he's just doing whatever it takes to get a body of his own," said Harry, fighting a yawn that had been threatening to escape for some time. "We're basically stuck trying to beat him to the Cauldron at the moment. Hopefully Herpo's difficulty getting past the quintapeds means we can get out ahead of him. I'm gonna be heading to the island next."

"Perhaps you can leave that particular task to someone else?" said Shacklebolt. "I know how hands-on you are, but you can't be expected to do everything. I gave you command of the entire auror department so that you wouldn't have to, remember?"

"You haven't seen Superman," said Harry as he shook his head. "He's just… We've both read the briefs, but actually facing him is something else."

"So I heard," said Shacklebolt.

"Honestly, if the ICW _really_ knew how powerful he was? There's no way they'd leave him be," said Harry. They might be generally cowardly when it came to putting their own necks on the line, but there came a point where fear was suddenly replaced by violence. Like cornered animals, they'd lash out with everything they had. "And where would that get us? In all likelihood, into a war with a man who could probably punch the moon to dust."

"They might succeed," said Shacklebolt evenly.

"Or they might not," Harry countered. "Really, the way I see it, we've got a couple of options. Either we leave him be, and come to terms with the possibility that his presence, and the presence of other people like him, might force us into the open, or we try and take him out, risking exactly the same possibility, only with the additional disadvantage of also being the bad guys."

"You think it's that bad?"

"Bad? No, not really," said Harry. "I don't think he's a threat, and you already know what I think about working to bring our worlds back together, but I worry about what might happen if we fight tooth and nail to keep our secrecy. The world is changing, Shack."

"That's what worries them," said Shacklebolt with a grimace. "It's what worries me too. It's a big risk."

"If we don't take the jump, then we risk being pushed," said Harry. He understood their worry, really he did. He'd be lying if he didn't share in it a bit, but lashing out blindly was unlikely to help anyone. "If that happens, and we're caught unawares, it could very easily go bad for us."

Shacklebolt nodded, but Harry knew his natural caution would win out. They'd been having some variation of the conversation for months, and he was still no nearer to getting the Minister to agree to anything other than preparatory planning for the worst-case scenario.

"I'll think about it again," said Shacklebolt, obviously opting to humour Harry once more. He stopped by the door to the chamber and fixed Harry with a serious expression. "You, however, should think about getting some rest. You'd be no use to anyone if you had to fight Superman again in this condition."

"There's too much to check out. I have to talk to the researchers, see if we can't get a location for the Cauldron," said Harry, shaking his head. "We also need to try and get a handle on Herpo's plans, and what his powers might be. Then I need to check in with Carruthers, see what they've got on the Justice League's situation, and whatever it is that Quahog's playing at." He knew he was tired, and he knew Shacklebolt was right that he needed a proper night's sleep if there was a possibility of ending up in another fight with Superman and Daphne, but there was too much that needed done.

"You have many competent aurors in your office," said Shacklebolt firmly. "If they cannot be trusted to ask some questions, what _can_ they be trusted to do?"

"Sir, I'd really—"

"Go home. Sleep," said Shacklebolt, and his tone brooked no further argument. He glanced briefly at the silver and gold timepiece on his wrist that, similar to the clock in Harry's office, did far more than merely tell the time. "I'll let you back in no earlier than 6am. Understood?"

Harry knew when he was beaten, but if he was going down, he wanted one concession before he accepted defeat. "What about the Cauldron? If something comes up, I'll need to know."

There was a delay of a couple of seconds while Shacklebolt considered the minor compromise. "Very well. But _only_ for something that involves the presence of Superman. Your aurors can handle Miss Greengrass."

Then, with a wave of his hand, Shacklebolt opened the doors, and stepped out, turning towards the private lift that ran between the Minister's Office on Level One, and the Wizengamot chambers. "Sleep well, Harry," he said before the doors closed and he was gone.

It didn't take long for Harry to get back to the office. "Padma!" he said the moment the lift doors opened.

It took only a few seconds for her to materialise, and Harry quickly realised she looked very nearly as tired as he felt. "Hey, how'd it go?" she asked.

"I got us a few days at least," said Harry as he shook his head. "And I got Robards to piss off too, so as long as we deal with this quickly everything should be okay. Only slight issue is that Shack told me to go and get some sleep."

"Probably for the best," she responded. "You look like shit. No offense."

"Yeah, yeah, can't have me scaring the newbies," said Harry wryly. "I'll be back at six sharp. See if you can't have someone rustle up an address for the lead researcher on that island. I think Geomann said it was someone called Iolanthe? Sorry I didn't think to get the full name."

"Will do," she said before she frowned as something occurred to her. "What about Diana?"

"Where _is_ Diana?" Harry asked, looking around.

Padma, miraculously, looked a little awkward. "I think she may have claimed your office for a nap?"

It shouldn't have been so surprising. Until they knew where to go next there wasn't a great deal she could do, and if she was still on New York time from the day before she'd probably had as little sleep as him.

"Right," he said as he started in the direction of his office. "I'll tell her to take a break too. She can have one of the mirrors."

Just before he reached the door, a thought occurred to him, and he turned around. "Oh, and can you look into a spell to conjure or transfigure Kryptonite? We might need it if it comes to another fight."

Padma frowned, no doubt remembering the same briefs Harry had received. "I'm not sure there is one," she said. "Didn't they say it required a specific spell to be created as it would be an elemental transfiguration?"

"They did," Harry allowed as he shrugged, "but that was more than a month ago. Maybe they got somewhere on creating the spell."

"It's worth a try, I guess." Padma didn't look like she held out much hope. Knowing what the unspeakables could be like, Harry silently agreed with her. They seemed to actively prefer areas of investigation that were useless.

"Thanks, Padma," he said, dismissing her with a polite nod.

When he opened the door to his office he found that Padma had indeed been correct earlier. Diana had managed to curl herself up on one of Harry's chairs and, if her deep and regular breathing was anything to go by, was fast asleep. Her sword was propped up against Harry's desk, within easy reach for when she woke up. Harry contemplated his next action for a few moments. In the end he opted to walk up to his desk and tap it whilst saying, quietly, "Diana?"

Her eyes snapped open almost instantly, leaving Harry wondering how it was that he'd managed to open the door to the office without her noticing, with how much of a light sleeper she apparently was. There was a brief second of confusion as her eyes darted around the room and she tried to gain her bearings. After a moment, they settled on Harry and widened slightly before she quickly pushed herself upright. Harry counted himself as a morning person, but even he was impressed by how quickly Diana was able to achieve wakefulness.

"Is there some news?" she asked, and there was nothing in her voice to suggest that she'd been sleeping just a few seconds earlier.

Her hair was a bit of a mess, and that armour that she was still wearing looked incredibly uncomfortable for sleeping in, but Harry elected not to point either of those things out.

"Nothing new," he said as he gathered up a few things. Case notes, a portkey and one of the reference books he'd been using in his attempt to avoid getting hopelessly lost amid all the myths and legends Daphn— Herpo was digging up. "I'm going to head home, see if I can't get some rest. I haven't really slept for" —he glanced at his clock— "about 48 hours." He really couldn't count that nap on his desk the night before.

Diana's smile was a bit wan, and she said: "I find myself in the same situation. I am not unaccustomed to going without sleep, but I know the dangers it holds. I will need my reactions and mind at their very best if I am to face Kal again."

"Well, here," said Harry as he tossed a communications mirror over to her. "If you need to get in contact with me, just say my name." He tapped the mirror in her hands once with his wand. "Now I can do the same with you. If anything comes up, I can let you know."

"Thank you," said Diana, turning the mirror over in her hands as she inspected it closely.

Harry noted the complete lack of anything in which she could carry the mirror and opened up one of his desk drawers, before pulling out a little pouch. He tossed that over to her too.

"Here, it's a mokeskin pouch," he said, as she caught it easily. "It can hold much more than you'd expect, and should loop around your belt easy enough."

She did just that, tying it around her belt next to where her sword usually hung. She pulled the mouth of the bag open, and inserted the mirror into it. It disappeared with ease, despite the bag not being anywhere deep enough on the outside to hold something that large.

"If you want to get anything out of the bag, just say what you're looking for," said Harry. "Also, only the person who put the item in can ever remove it. So it should keep everything nice and safe."

"Mirror," said Diana, and a moment later she withdrew the mirror Harry had just given her. She looked up in surprise. "This is an impressive artefact."

"It's pretty useful," said Harry with a shrug, remembering just how true that had been during his year on the run. "Don't worry about it though, I have another."

"Nevertheless, I thank you," said Diana.

Harry just smiled and waved her thanks off. Mokeskin pouches weren't exactly an everyday item, but they were hardly irreplaceable. "Now, want me to walk you out? I assume you have somewhere you'll be staying?"

She paused then, looking thoughtful. "Actually, perhaps you can help me there," she said after a couple of seconds. "I could return to my apartments at the Hall of Justice, or to Paris, but that would mean I am a long way away should anything important happen. Do you know of anywhere within London where I could stay?"

He hadn't really thought of that, but he supposed she had a good point. After thinking about it, he also realised that she'd likely have some difficulty gaining access to many of the magical locations they may need to go. He could give her a portkey to the Ministry, but that would mean someone would have to hang around to pick her up when she did arrive, assuming she answered the mirror immediately.

"Well, I've got about a half-dozen spare bedrooms at my place," he said. He could give her the name of a hotel, but that didn't really solve all the issues. Much better if they were simply in the same place already. It was a perfectly logical suggestion, really. "If you want, you can borrow one of those for the evening? If you're worried about the Justice League, I can give you a portkey that can get you to the Hall of Justice in a few seconds."

A broad smile graced her features. "That would be perfect, I think," she said warmly. "That way, should anything happen, we can both react as quickly as possible."

"Great," said Harry, his smile mirroring her own. "In that case, there's no need to walk you out. We can just take the Floo. Let me just pick up a couple of things for some light reading and we'll get going."

"What is the Floo?"

Harry's smile changed into something which more closely resembled a grin. "You'll love it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the Cantref Gwaelod is one of a number of different 'lost island kingdoms' dotted around the world, much like Atlantis. I like to imagine that it rose to the surface when it did in this story as a result of unseen events happening in Atlantis.
> 
> I want to thank everyone who has reviewed. It's really interesting and helpful to see where readers' minds go as they're progressing through the story. It's relatively easy to get things like spelling and grammar to a point where it's acceptable, but it is far more difficult to work out the details of character depiction and growth, as they tend to be much more spread out, with no single-point of failure to address. As a result, such things are hard to address in a drafted story, as they are often structural errors, but knowing about the bits that work or do not work is very helpful when it comes time to start drafting my next story.


	12. Chapter 12

"You're up early," said Harry as he shuffled into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, already garbed in his hastily cleaned and pressed auror robes. If he didn't know better he'd have said that the night's sleep had actually made him worse off. He sincerely hoped an injection of highly concentrated coffee would improve matters.

Diana had clearly been up for a while. She was wearing some fairly loosely fitting clothes that Harry had transfigured for her when he'd realised that she'd brought literally nothing with her but the clothes on her back, and that those 'clothes on her back' were really just an armoured corset, a skirt, some bracers and boots. None of them were especially comfortable to sleep in, Harry imagined, and so he had attempted to transfigure some pyjamas.

Skilled though me may be in transfiguration, there was a reason witches and wizards tended to buy their clothes from shops rather than simply design them themselves. Sure, many had difficulty with the actual transfiguration itself, but for Harry at least, it was a rather more mundane limitation: Style. Harry's imagination when it came to fashion was… 'limited' was probably the kindest term he'd ever heard used to describe it. The end result was that all his sleepy mind had been able to think up was a loose fitting pair of white pyjamas that would probably have made just about anyone else look like a low-budget ghost.

Diana, of course, looked fantastic in it.

She turned to look at him, taking her eyes off the extremely rarely-used frying pan, and offered him a bright smile. "Good morning! I hope you don't mind, but I have been told that it is customary in this situation for the guest to make breakfast?"

"You really didn't need to," said Harry as he deposited himself into a kitchen chair. It did smell good though. He'd long ago become used to the idea of simply grabbing something on-the-go once he was in at the office.

Now that he came to think about it, the last time he'd actually eaten a real breakfast at home had probably been a few months before Ginny had given him her ultimatum. Looking back, that might have been part of the problem.

"Well, I am no chef, but I have at least learned how to make an omelette," she said as she scraped one from the pan and onto a plate which she handed across to him.

In truth, Harry had always had something of an irrational dislike of omelettes, mostly stemming from the fact that his uncle Vernon had enjoyed them so much. There was no way he was going to say that, though. Instead, he thanked her before tucking right in.

It wasn't bad at all. It didn't occur to him until he'd taken the third bite, perhaps something to do with the amazing curative powers Vernon had always claimed a good omelette had, that he realised he didn't have any fresh eggs in the house at all.

As if she was able to read his mind, Diana said, "You didn't have anything in the house, so I used the 'Floo'? I went to the Ministry and asked someone there to help me."

Harry wasn't at all surprised that they had indeed helped her, especially if she had still been dressed in those pyjamas.

"Well, thank you," said Harry. "This is actually pretty good. Who taught you the art of the omelette?" Unless he missed his mark, even Vernon would have rated them well, if only grudgingly.

For the briefest of moments, a momentary flicker of sadness crossed her features, but it was soon gone. It was replaced by a more wistful look, and she said, "She was called Etta Candy."

It didn't take a detective to note the use of the past tense there, so Harry decided to side-step the issue. "Well, she clearly taught you well."

"Thank you," said Diana as she set another omelette on the table, this time at an empty chair which she wasted no time in occupying.

"I don't suppose you heard anything while you were in at the office?" Harry tried. He glanced at the clock and saw that there was still nearly a half-hour before he could get back into the office without getting Shacklebolt on his case again. Didn't mean he couldn't send a patsy, though.

"I did ask," said Diana after she had swallowed a mouthful of her own omelette. "The man I asked, McDonald? He said that the night-shift had been quiet."

"Well, that's probably good news," said Harry. It likely meant that Daphne hadn't been up to anything. In all likelihood, possession or not, she'd have to sleep too. It was also possible that her injury was worse than they'd initially thought.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, how was it that you and Batman came to meet?" Diana asked between bites.

There wasn't much harm in at least giving her the basics, Harry decided. "A friend of mine ran into some trouble in Gotham last year," he said with a shrug as if it wasn't a big deal. "Batman and Zatanna both helped me find him and bring him back home. I figured I owed him a favour for that, so I left him the card. I guess I still do owe him that favour. I'm not sure this counts."

"I have found Bruce rarely keeps track of these things," said Diana with a fond smile, "and I suspect you are the same. If he needed your help, you'd go, would you not? Favour or no?"

"I guess you've got me there." He couldn't deny the truth of it. "I've never been all that good at sitting on the sidelines."

"That much I certainly understand," said Diana. "I have tried it, do not misunderstand me, but it bites at you."

Harry knew what she meant, even if the expression wasn't exactly right. "Sitting back and watching bad things happen, knowing you could have done something to stop them?"

"It is why I finally decided to return to Man's World," said Diana with a brief nod. "My mother told me that I would merely be wasting myself, that there was no way I could cure all the world's ills. She said the world did not deserve me."

"Well, I know _I'm_ glad you didn't listen to her," said Harry honestly. If she had, he would probably have ended up a smear on the ground in Scotland.

"As am I," said Diana. She gestured around her which Harry interpreted as towards the world in general. "If I had not, if I had stayed on Themyscira, I would never have seen any of the wonders of Man's World."

"What was Themyscira like?" Harry asked. He'd heard the stories and legends, of course, but they were just that. Some had even made the argument that it was entirely mythical.

"It is beautiful," said Diana as she smiled and her eyes were distant, focused on something only she could see. "When you stand atop the cliffs and look out to sea, beyond the barrier islands, it is like it is the only place in the whole world. Like it is the lone island upon a planet made only of water. It is never cold there, and I awoke every morning to the sound of a hundred different songbirds. Every day a new melody. I will not say that I do not miss it, but I can carry those memories with me while I seek out more of them in Man's World."

If it weren't for the fact that Themyscira was, so far as Harry was aware, a literal no-man's land he might have suggested he try and visit sometime. "Sounds amazing," he said instead.

"It is," said Diana a little wistfully, then she came back to the here and now, "but so is Man's World. Beautiful as Themyscira is, it is but one small island. It cannot compare to a whole world."

Something that had been bothering Harry ever since his conversation with Neville prompted him to ask: "So why do _you_ do it?" Surely it couldn't just be guilt at the thought of doing nothing?

"Why did I leave Themyscira?" Diana asked, misunderstanding his question.

"Why did you decide to join the Justice League? Why did you decide to be a hero?"

Perhaps he hadn't expressed his question all that well, but Diana thought about the answer nonetheless. "A man I once knew told me that when you see bad things in the world you can either do nothing, or do something, and he'd already tried nothing. So had I. So had my people. For so long we had looked at the world, and all the suffering it held, and told ourselves that we were powerless to change it. We told ourselves stories of the world of men, like those of Herpo and his terrible wars, and convinced ourselves that they, you, did not deserve us. We did nothing, and so did everyone else.

"When Steve told me that, I realised the mistake we'd made. We had been looking at the world, and all of the pain and suffering that blighted it, and we had decided that we could never hope to fix it, that it was too _big_ for us." She shook her head ruefully. "We were right, of course, but we were also wrong. Being unable to fix everything should not mean that you do not try to fix what you can. I admit, I have not always stayed true to the decision I made then."

She paused, and stared into space, her lips and brows turned down by some sad memory. "It can be hard to stay the course when you feel as if you're alone, and fighting for a world that has no interest in being better. It was only recently that I discovered I was not alone."

"Superman," said Harry, realising what she meant. The way she looked when she spoke prompted him to ask: "Are you two together?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No. Kal is merely a good friend, but I do not just mean Kal. Bruce, J'onn, all of the rest of the Justice League. Each of us on our own might never have been able to make that much of a difference, but together? I truly believe that we can inspire the world to be more than it has so long been resigned to be."

For some reason, Harry felt unreasonably pleased to hear that Diana and Superman weren't an item. It was, in his opinion, an entirely unhelpful reaction. She might be beautiful, driven and _good_ in a way that Harry had been starting to think existed purely in his imagination, but that didn't mean he had to start getting mushy over her. They had a job to do.

On the kitchen table, he noticed the muggle police report had been moved from where he'd left it the previous night. Clearly Diana had been taking a bit of a look through it.

He spun it around and flipped it open. "Find anything interesting?"

"They seem to have been very thorough," she said between bites. "Identities for all the attackers, exact movements, weapons and even a complete list of the potentially compromised items in the collection."

As Harry looked over it he still couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something in the report, but for the life of him he couldn't work out what it was.

"I have been trying to work out what Luthor's involvement in all this is," said Diana, prompting Harry to look up.

"Luthor?"

"Alexander Luthor," she said as if that explained everything. "Sir Thomas said that he had some involvement in bringing the collection to London."

Harry still didn't understand. "Why would that be important?"

"Luthor has been" —she paused— "unappreciative of the League's efforts over the last year," she said and Harry could tell that she was deliberately understating it. "He has been attempting to undermine our public perception for a few months. He has a particular dislike of Kal, however."

"You think he orchestrated the whole thing?" Harry asked, turning the idea over in his mind, seeing how well it fit with everything else he knew. "It seems unlikely that he could have known about Herpo's horcrux. That kind of knowledge is extremely tightly controlled even in our world."

"I do not know," Diana admitted, looking troubled, "but it seems like a large coincidence to me that Superman has fallen under the control of this Herpo as a result of coming into contact with a museum collection which Luthor had a hand in getting into the public eye."

"If it is part of some dastardly plan, then it's heavily reliant on luck," said Harry. "I very much doubt he could have planned for Daphne to do what she did."

"Then perhaps he did not plan for the possession at all," said Diana eventually. "Perhaps he had some other plan?"

"Is it unusual for Luthor to show interest in historical collections like that?" Harry asked. Trying to get a sense for the man might give him a better starting point.

Diana grimaced. "Not especially. He has donated to a number of different museums all over the world."

That kicked up the potential of it being a simple coincidence somewhat, but Harry had learned to trust his gut. Something that came with that, was learning to trust other peoples' guts too. "Well, we should keep an eye out. It could be a coincidence, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

The grateful smile Diana graced him with just served to confirm that he'd said the right thing. He glanced over at the clock and realised that it was just about time to head back into work. With a wave of his hand, the two empty plates and the used frying pan flew into the sink where they busily started to clean themselves up with the help of a couple of sponges.

"We'd best get ready to head in," he said as he pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. "We need to see what we can find at this Gwaelod place. Hopefully Daphne and Superman are still stuck trying to punch their way through a wall of quintapeds."

Diana grimaced at the thought of it. "Should we not try to stop them? Either they or the quintapeds could be injured or killed."

"If I try to stop them, it just means that anyone I send might also end up hurt or killed without doing much to actually help the situation," said Harry. He knew it probably sounded pretty callous, but there was very little they could do in a stand-up fight against Superman, and the quintapeds were quite possibly even worse. "We've seen that the quintapeds can look after themselves, and don't even want our presence. At the same time, there's no way they could kill Superman without him doing something intensely stupid. I just hope he keeps Daphne safe."

If she disagreed with him, she gave no indication of it. Instead, she zipped out of the room with a rush of speed, and moments later reappeared, this time once more wearing her Wonder Woman armour.

"Very well then, shall we get this play on the road?" she said.

Harry glanced at her for a moment as he tried to work out if she was making some kind of joke, but found only earnest determination. He shrugged it off and led her through to the fireplace. A few seconds, and a couple of pinches of Floo powder later, they were gone.

o-o

He wasn't sure what exactly he'd been expecting from the legendary lost island kingdom of Wales, but his first thought upon being deposited by the portkey was that it certainly did not match the reality.

Perhaps he should have thought about the fact that it had been hidden beneath the waves for hundreds of years at least, but for some reason that hadn't occurred to him.

Despite the fact that it had risen back above the waves more than a month previously, the ground still squelched underfoot, and he could feel the dirty water creeping in through his shoes, at least until he charmed them to be impervious. Something else he hadn't considered was the _smell_. Rotting fish was an entirely too pithy description of it and simply failed to evoke the way that the smell seemed to fill up the whole world. Perhaps decomposing whales would be more apt.

"Ah, you've arrived!" said a voice that sounded like it issued from a nose-only being that was suffering from a nasty case of the sniffles.

Harry turned and found a middle-aged woman with fraying grey hair, somewhat blood-shot blue eyes and a large wooden clothes peg fastened firmly over her nose. She was, sensibly in Harry's opinion, wearing a set of waders that extended all the way to just below her shoulders and a chunky tweed jacket.

With a snap of his fingers, Harry conjured a bubble-head charm around his head. It sadly didn't take long to realise the flaw in his plan. The bubble-head charm might have stopped the smell from getting in, but it didn't do anything at all about the stench that was already inside the bubble when it came into being.

The woman held out a hand with two more of the clothes pegs. "Yes, we tried that too," she said with a rueful smile. "Here, I suggest you take one of these instead."

Neither Harry nor Diana needed to be told twice. Harry quickly fixed one of the pegs over his nose while Diana did the same. The effect was instantaneous, and he found that he was able to breathe easily, with only the slightest lingering hint of weeks-old fish.

"Thank you," he said in relief. "I'm Harry Potter, and this is Diana Prince," he said as he extended his hand for the woman to shake.

"It is a pleasure," said Diana as she was introduced.

Harry continued: "I assume you're Iolanthe?"

"Iolanthe Idle," she said as she nodded her head rapidly, sending her flyaway hair in all directions. "I'm in charge of the dig here. Professor Geomann at the British Magical Museum told me you wanted to know about anything we might have found here that could have something to do with the old legends of the _Pair Dadeni_?"

"That's right," said Harry, and if she had found anything, he was sincerely hopeful that she'd be quick about bringing them up to speed.

"Well, there _may_ be something, but it's really all very strange. Most curious, don't you know?" she said with an enthusiasm that had Harry's heart sinking with every word. "It seems to be in some version of the Old Tongue that neither I nor Gavin recognise. We're almost certain it concerns the _Pair Dadeni_ , however. Or some kind of cauldron at least. Maybe a cup too, or merely a deep bowl. But it's really all very interesting."

Before she'd finished speaking, she started squelching off in the direction of a piece of somewhat higher ground upon which were perched the ruins of what had probably once been a castle. "Come, come!" she called over her shoulder.

Harry and Diana exchanged a look, before she directed his gaze down to her feet. She was in her armour, which included a pair of long metal-plated boots that were probably dealing with the wet far better than Harry's own shoes ever would have. Nonetheless, it was clear that she'd seen him cast the impervious charm on his own feet and wanted the same treatment. With a flick of his wand he cast the spell again, and she offered him a warm smile before they started trudging through the muck behind their new guide.

Despite the impervious charm, the mud managed to get everywhere. Harry soon realised that his robes were covered in it despite the impervious charms woven into them, and it had also gradually started working its way up the inside of his trouser legs.

By the time he'd realised his oversight, it was already too late, so he merely continued on. He could just clean himself up when they actually got out of the mud. He looked across to where Diana was walking beside him, and found that she too was suffering from the same problem.

"Glamourous, eh?" he said as he flicked a particularly adventuresome blob of mud off his robes.

She smiled and shook her head, but was otherwise seemingly unworried by the mess. For some reason that surprised Harry, though he knew it really shouldn't. If there was one thing he'd learned about her in their brief time working together it was that she didn't seem to worry at all about what she looked like. With good reason, he supposed.

Soon, they reached their destination. It was only marginally less filthy than everything else, but it was obvious that some effort had been made to at least make the ruins more bearable to live in. A magical tent had been pitched up in the middle of the ruins, and more than a dozen charmed brooms and shovels were busily at work trying to beat back the seemingly endless mud.

A young sandy haired man, probably not long out of Hogwarts, was directing them with his wand when they entered in through what remained of what had probably once been the castle's gatehouse.

Iolanthe completely ignored the man, whom Harry assumed was the aforementioned Gavin, and led them towards a slightly taller mound of rocks amid all the others. Somewhat hidden at the base of the mound, a set of stairs descended downwards into the earth. Much as Harry had expected, the air was almost soupy in its thickness, and had it not been for the peg on his nose he was sure the smell would have been overwhelming.

"It's just along here," said Iolanthe as she lit up the end of her wand.

The light from her wand was very directional, and not of much use to Harry and Diana who were walking behind Iolanthe in almost complete darkness, and so Harry conjured his own floating lamp for them both. It was a good job he did, as they soon found that the floor was extremely uneven.

The tunnel was not all that long. It was hardly surprising as the castle itself was fairly small. At the end of the tunnel, there was a broken section in the wall, and after they squeezed through, adding a new layer of grime to the already accumulated mud, they were met with a wall that was covered in both writing and what seemed to be pictograms.

"Fascinating, isn't it? We never imagined we might find something like this," said Iolanthe as she swept her wand up and down the full length of the fresco. "As you can see, it seems to tell the story of some kind of cauldron or other vessel, though it does not match the legends around the _Pair Dadeni_ , and there are a number of other Cauldrons of note from that same period."

"No," said Diana as she moved closer to the wall. She muttered under her breath as her eyes traced the strange symbols before she pointed to one of the depictions of a cauldron, this one flanked by two men. "This _is_ the Cauldron of Rebirth."

"You can read this lost language?" said Iolanthe in surprise.

"It is closely related to Pictish," said Diana a little distantly as she scanned the inscriptions. "It has been rendered into Elder Futhark which makes it a little more difficult to interpret."

"But Pictish _is_ a lost—"

"Here, look," said Diana, completely unaware that she was cutting Iolanthe off. "This is where it describes how King Gwyddno Longshanks and his allies waged a war upon another Kingdom in the far North. The Kingdom is unnamed, but surely it must be Orkney."

"Brilliant," said Harry, once again thanking his lucky stars for Diana. He wasn't sure they'd have gotten anywhere without her incredible affinity for languages. "Does it say where they took it? Is it somewhere down here still?"

"It does, but it is not here," said Diana as she continued reading. Iolanthe had taken up station next to her and was clearly trying to understand Diana's interpretation but if the expression on her face was anything to go by she was not being met by much in the way of success. Diana was unbothered. "It says that it was taken far from here, and hidden within the lair of the boar, Trwyth, where it shall be forever guarded by his children, and watched over by the King of the Giants as his eternal atonement."

Harry turned to Iolanthe. "Where's that?"

She didn't stop glaring at the words that Diana had translated. "Well, I'm sure _I_ don't know. Until today I would have said _no-one_ knows, but I would have said the same of the Pictish language, too."

"What about the rest of it?"

With a little noise of disgust, Iolanthe gave up on trying to follow Diana's translation and stood up straight. "Well, the King of the Giants in the Brythonic legend is Ysbadadden. The Boar is surely from the Arthurian legend of _Culhwch and Olwen_ but of its lair, no one knows. It was said that only Drudwyn the Hound could hunt Twrch Trwyth."

"And there's really nothing else we can go on?" Harry asked. Was that really where the trail went cold?

"Well, I certainly don't know anything more," Iolanthe said with more bite than was strictly necessary. "Perhaps Pavel would know something more, but if we knew how to locate the lair, I do think we would already have gone looking."

It was a good point, well made, but on the other hand no-one had thought it was possible to talk to quintapeds until Diana had showed up. Maybe there was something else everyone had missed.

"Well, thank you in any case," he said to Iolanthe, only to be largely ignored as she returned to frowning at the inscriptions. She just offered a half-grunt and a dismissive wave of her hand.

Harry glanced over at Diana who met his gaze with a shrug and a smile. "Well," he said when it was obvious they would be getting nothing more out of Iolanthe, "I guess this means we have to see if Geomann has anything more to say on the matter." Again. Honestly, he should have just deputised the man or something.

He summoned a small stone, which detached itself from the muddy floor with a damp slurping sound. With a tap of his wand he turned it into a portkey to the British Museum, before he held it out for Diana to touch. As soon as she did so, he poked it again with his wand, and they both disappeared from the dungeon in a rush of air and racing lights.

The change in the air was palpable the moment they arrived in the museum. Gone was that feeling of clinging damp and heavy, saturated air. Harry quickly removed the charmed peg that had been protecting his nose, and while the museum's air was surely dusty and dead, it tasted _good_. Beside him, he heard Diana do much the same.

"What is goi— Oh." Geomann materialised from around a display case, an annoyed expression on his face. "You do realise that we do not permit people to arrive by portkey?"

"Sorry about that," said Harry, completely unapologetic. A few quick charms removed the cloying mud and grime, and Harry felt human once more. Diana looked similarly relieved to be free of it. "We've just been to see Iolanthe, and we were hoping you might be able to answer some of the questions it raised?"

Just as Geomann was about to answer, Diana's hand went to her ear and she held up her palm for quiet. After a moment of listening to something, she said, "I am sorry. It seems Hal has just returned, and discovered what happened at the Hall of Justice. Will you excuse me?"

"By all means," said Harry. He didn't want Hal, whom he assumed was Hal Jordan, the hero known as Green Lantern who had been off-world when Daphne had frozen the rest of the league, to get the wrong idea. "Let me know if you need anything."

"I will," she responded with a grateful nod. She then started talking to empty air, and Harry assumed she had her communicator open. "Wonder Woman to Green Lantern, there's a lot to explain. Green Lantern? Are you there?"

She walked off around a corner, just far enough to be out of earshot. Harry turned back to Geomann. "Anyway, as I was saying, we found an inscription that claimed the cauldron had been hidden in the lair of a boar, Twrch Trwyth?" He was sure he'd mangled the name, but it was evidently close enough that Geomann understood what he was talking about.

"Well that will certainly pose a problem," said Geomann, looking thoughtful. "There is really no historical record of where the lair might be found, though the natural assumption is that it can be found somewhere in Wales. However, I think some have argued for Cornwall too."

"What about the boar, then?" Harry asked. 'Probably in Wales' didn't really count as narrowing it down in his book. "Can you tell me more about it?"

"Well certainly," said Geomann. "Perhaps we can take this to my office? I have early manuscripts for much of the _Mabinogion_ there."

"Of course."

It didn't take long for them to both walk the short distance to the nook that Geomann called his office. Once there, they both took their seats, and Geomann started ferreting through stacks of loose parchment and ancient-looking books.

"Ah ha!" he said in triumph, pulling out one particular roll of parchment out of the pile. It was covered in stains, and was frayed at the edges, but it was otherwise largely undamaged despite its obviously immense age. One of the wonders of magic. "The tale of _Culhwch and Olwen_." He righted his glasses again and started to read.

"Yes, yes. Of course, now I remember," he said as his eyes scanned the text. "Twrch Trwyth was the cursed son of Prince Tared, though whom that might be I don't believe anyone has any idea. I do remember seeing some muggles theorise that Chrétien's Arthurian writings which featured Tor, son of Ares, were in fact referencing the same story, however."

Harry dutifully noted all those names down, but would be the first to admit that none of them made any sense to him. Well, none except Ares. "Ares?"

"You are no doubt thinking of the Greek god," said Geomann in a voice that he probably thought didn't sound anywhere near as patronizing as it was. "I can assure you that that is highly unlikely. It is well known that the Greek gods died long ago, or at the very least they stopped concerning themselves with the mortal world. That would have been at least a thousand years before the events of _Culhwch and Olwen_. Probably much more. No, while there is no record of just where this Prince Ares was from, it is much more likely that he was just an ordinary man named after the god. That would not be so very unusual."

Despite Geomann's assurances, Harry made a mental note to ask Diana about it once she'd finished filling Green Lantern in on events. He'd take her word on the goings on of the Greek gods over Geomann's any day of the week.

"Okay then. It also mentioned that it was guarded by the Children of Twrch Trwyth and the King of the Giants," said Harry. He wasn't going to try and pronounce Ysbaddaden.

"Ysbaddaden?" said Geomann, making it sound easy. "He at least is meant to be dead, or so the legends say, at least. When Culhwch completed the tasks Ysbadadden set him, the giant was shaved and beheaded, with his head mounted upon a spike before his castle."

That certainly sounded pretty final. "Well, the inscription was pretty clear," said Harry, uncertain which of the two sources might be right. "It said the King of the Giants would watch over the Cauldron as an eternal atonement. Then again, maybe it's not a case of one or the other. We are dealing with a Cauldron capable of returning the dead to life."

Geomann didn't look altogether pleased with that explanation, but in the end clearly decided to set his misgivings aside. "Besides that, the Children of Twrch Trwyth would surely be a litter of boars. It is said that they have the same envenomed bristles that their sire possessed, so if you do have to fight them, you had best be wary of them."

Unless the boars were also resistant to magic, a few poisoned bristles were unlikely to be all that dangerous. Though, even as he thought it, Harry was reminded of the MacBoons, and the strange ability they possessed to deaden or consume magic in their vicinity. If the boars had been created by a similar kind of magic, then perhaps he would do well to heed Geomann's warning.

"Where does that leave us then?" Harry asked, though he was not sure if he was asking Geomann, or talking to himself.

"I am not sure," said Geomann somewhat regretfully. "I am not sure there is anything I have missed, but I shall take another look at the writings just in case."

Then Harry heard something. It was a quiet sound, but despite that, it was exactly the kind of sound that tended to grab the attention.

The distant tinkling of shattering glass

For a moment, he wasn't sure what he'd heard. Then the wailing began.

"It's the information boards!" said Geomann, looking panicked when the wailing ended less than a second or two after it had started. "Someone's broken into one of the cabinets."

Instantly, Harry's wand was in his hand. Before he turned to leave he shot a serious look at Geomann. "Call the aurors."

Perhaps it was nothing, but Harry had long ago learned to trust his gut, and his gut said that something was very badly wrong.

He sincerely hoped Diana hadn't gone far.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry cast a hasty silencing charm, then followed it up with a disillusionment charm for good-measure. Under the relative safety of those two charms, he snuck around the corner in the direction of the sound of broken glass. As he neared the bend, he heard a voice, and his stomach dropped when he realised who it was that was speaking.

It was Daphne's voice, and if Daphne was there, then Superman was surely not far away.

He knew he needed to play it smart. Most importantly, however, he knew he needed to ensure that neither of them could escape.

Peeking around the corner, he was able to catch sight of them both. They were standing next to one of the display cases, surrounded by the shattered or charred remains of a dozen or more information boards. As he looked closer, he realised he recognised the display. It was the skull of a huge hound. Hadn't Geomann said something about it? He'd have to check his notes, but it didn't matter right now. The most important thing was that they couldn't be allowed to continue whatever it was they were doing.

Daphne was wrapped in a red mist that Harry sincerely hoped was not blood. One arm was hanging loosely at her side, as if it had been dislocated or maybe broken. Whatever had happened to it didn't seem to bother her as she was focused on the spell she was casting in unfamiliar, foreign words.

Superman was next to her, floating a few inches above the ground. His eyes roamed the room, waiting for an attack. Luckily for Harry, even Superman's improved senses were apparently unable to detect him behind his magical concealment. No matter how acute his hearing, a silencing charm meant _silent_. Perhaps if he knew what to look for his enhanced sight would be able to identify the imperfections in the disillusionment charm, but as his eyes swept over Harry without recognition it was clear he did not. He couldn't afford to waste time though. Just as Diana had been able to follow his movements under the charm once she became familiar with its results, it wouldn't take Superman all that long to cotton on to what Harry was doing.

With Daphne seemingly occupied, Harry decided to make sure their escape wouldn't be as easy as it had been before. Last time they'd ensured that magical travel was impossible, but had failed to account for the fact that Superman could fly and move so fast that he didn't _need_ to apparate to be able to disappear into thin air.

He silently mouthed the words for a variant of the shield charm, though he added a small twist to the end of the wand motion. Invisible to Superman, and unseen by Daphne who was entirely focused on her own spellcasting, a semi-circular shield grew up from the ground, centred on Harry, and just large enough to enclose the three of them.

Most shield charms protected those inside from outside threats. This one, thanks to the twist Harry had inserted, would hopefully work in exactly the opposite way. If he'd got it right, there was no chance Superman would be able to escape. He followed it up immediately with an anti-apparation charm to stop any magical escapes.

In the time it took him to do that, Daphne's spell had clearly developed into something more. The cloud of blood had started to form into the shape of a huge hound, and was rapidly coalescing into something much more solid. It was time to intervene. He really hoped the aurors on call reacted quickly, but he didn't have time to call them himself.

His first spell, a full-body bind on Superman, clearly caught them both by surprise. Superman's arms and legs snapped together, and Harry expected him to fall from the air. He didn't. Instead, he stayed suspended but completely stationary, like a forgotten marionette.

Next, before Daphne could hope to react, Harry followed up with a stunning charm at her exposed back. While she had no chance to react, the hound she was calling into being did. It dove straight through her like a ghost, and swallowed the stunning charm's red missile in a single bite. As it did so, its outline grew clearer, and its body more solid.

Daphne whipped around in surprise, but Harry was already casting a powerful _Finite_ at the dog. Somehow, it did very little. The outline of the hound wavered, but he could feel the power that Daphne continued to pour into it, and it did not collapse. Her face a grimace of concentration, Daphne held out her hand towards Harry, and a wave of strange magic flooded from it.

It flowed over and around him, and he felt his disillusionment flicker for a moment before the magic reached his shield, which repelled it. The unfamiliar magic exploded into flames of blue and purple, bathing the room in a blinding, unnatural light.

It was immediately obvious that Harry had miscalculated. While it did not break his own charms, the flicker in his disillusionment would surely be enough for Superman to locate him. Worse than that though was the fact that the circular wall of incandescent fire had a very obvious centre, and Harry was still standing right on it.

The wave of magic had similarly failed to break the body-bind on Superman, perhaps because of the concentration needed to maintain the blood hound spell. It did at least free Superman's eyes to move, however, and they glowed a baleful red as Superman's gaze turned towards where Harry was standing. It was only his quick reactions that allowed him to jump out of the way before they reduced the floor near where he'd been standing to molten slag.

It would have been obvious that the attack had been unsuccessful, but with his concealment charms still active, Harry hoped they weren't able to guess at his new position. In an attempt to distract Daphne from trying to detect his location again, he cast another powerful _Finite_ at the cloud which was already starting to come back together. It was like the cloud had been subjected to a feeble breeze, but it was enough to draw Daphne's attention back to it.

Preoccupied as Daphne may have been, Superman wasn't content to simply wait for her to locate his target. Even as Harry was casting his spell, Superman's eyes glowed again, and searing red beams cut across the room before splashing uselessly against his shield. They did not stop, however, and instead Superman started sweeping them back and forth across the space.

There was no way that Harry could safely avoid them. They traced an erratic path around the room that was impossible to predict, scything through the priceless artefacts like they were little more than paper. Harry had no other option, he threw up a shield to protect himself.

The moment the beams hit the shield, they immediately halted in their search, and Harry felt the intensity of their heat rise significantly. Fortunately, no matter how much power Superman tried to put behind them, there was no way they would get through.

The problem came when he realised that Daphne was surely on the cusp of completing her spell. In a moment of inspiration, Harry altered his shield just slightly, to give it a perfectly mirrored finish. The beams were sent straight back at Superman, immediately blasting him from his position floating in the air. Thanks to the angle, he flew straight through the cloud, which served to disrupt its shape greatly. He then hit the perimeter shield with a fleshy thump, but not so much as a grunt of pain.

At that moment, Padma charged into the room, and Harry realised that their arrival had surely been delayed by his anti-apparation charms. There had been no other choice however. If he was to stop Daphne from escaping, he needed those charms up.

Almost as soon as they entered, Harry was gratified to see that she understood his plan. He heard her bark orders at the two aurors who'd accompanied her, and moments later they were creating their own version of Harry's shield charm, only larger. The moment it was complete, Harry released his own shield.

Daphne could obviously see that the tide had turned against her, and she swept her hand to the side as she called out some incantation that Harry could not understand, " _Kekau̯menos_!"

From her hand issued a stream of intense red flames, which leapt and swirled in a way that made Harry think it might be related to fiendfyre in some way. There was no way he was going to take the chance of some kind of modified fiendfyre getting loose in the middle of London.

He started fighting the cursed fire immediately. A jet of water wider than a quaffle surged from his wand, and he quickly directed it to begin to bind the fire. Where fire and water met there were explosions of scalding steam and soon the room was filled with suffocating smoke and searing vapor.

Above the twin roar of fire and water, Daphne's voice rang out: "You would do well to cease your pathetic attempts to oppose me," she said, her voice seeming to issue from all directions at once. "This pitiful vessel is too weak to contain my true power. Once I am returned, unfettered and unconstrained, you could stand at my side as the new Atreidae!"

"Figure I'll pass," Harry shouted back. He had little interest in getting into a shouting match with an ancient dark wizard. Instead, he focused on containing and dousing the fire.

It was clear that Padma and the other two aurors were following his lead. Soon the malignant glow of the cursed flames faded in the swirling clouds before finally being snuffed out completely.

Another wave of his wand saw the smoke and steam cleared from the room in an instant, and a scene of devastation met their eyes. Many of the items on display had been reduced to little more than cinders, the protections on their display cases utterly overcome by the magical power that drove and sustained the flames. Half of the Flying Dutchmen was on fire too, and its spectral crew ran back and forth in a panic; their ghostly efforts to save the ship proving completely fruitless.

More importantly, however, there was no sign of either Superman or Daphne. Instead, there was a huge hole in the floor of the museum right by where Daphne had been attempting to complete her spell.

"Shit!" said Harry, unable to rein in his annoyance. He ran over to the hole to peer inside, and quickly realised Daphne was long gone once again. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. He'd _had_ them! He looked over at Padma and her two companions whom he was finally able to recognise as McDonald and Smith. All three of them, including Padma, looked apprehensive.

"Something to remember for future fights," he said, somehow managing to keep his voice level and calm. "When your target can fly through walls like they're made of paper, it's best to make sure your shields extend all the way _into_ the ground."

Much as he, in his mounting frustration, wanted to, Harry wasn't going to chew them out about it. They knew what they'd done wrong, and they wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Both McDonald and Smith were pretty young, and neither had ever had to fight anything like Superman. Padma had gone through the training like everyone else, but it had been some time since she'd been out in the field. Unlike him, she'd seemed quite content with being desk-bound.

"Where did Wonder Woman go?" Padma asked.

The attempt to move past the obvious screw up was completely transparent, but Harry let it slide. "She got a call from Green Lantern. Seems he was a bit worried about the fact that the entire Justice League is still petrified by some unknown spell."

If the dossier that had been made up on him was to be believed, Hal Jordan, better known to the world as the hero Green Lantern, had a somewhat worrying tendency to go off at half-cock. There was no doubting the man's drive, but he was also reckless. He hoped Diana hadn't encountered any problems of her own in dealing with him.

"Oh," said Padma. It was one of the more ominous 'Oh's Harry had heard, and he immediately knew that his concerns had almost certainly already been realised.

"Oh?"

"Just as we were about to leave, we got a floocall from Carruthers," she explained. "He did _not_ sound happy when I told him we'd get back to him."

"Lovely," said Harry drily. He really hoped no-one had done anything stupid. The last thing he needed was for another superhero to start causing problems. It was a small mercy that Green Lantern was, at least in his opinion, one of the easier heroes to combat through magic. He couldn't pretend to understand how the Green Lantern powers worked, but on the surface they seemed fairly similar to magic, and magic users had plenty of experience dealing with other magic users.

He pulled out the communications mirror, and called out Diana's name. There was a brief moment when he worried she might not answer, but just as his mind started considering the possible reason that she might be unavailable, the surface of the mirror shimmered like water, and her face melted into view.

She had a few new cuts and bruises on her face, though Harry could see that they were already beginning to heal. Over her shoulder he could see an apparently unconscious Green Lantern, flanked by two wizards, and wrapped in Diana's glowing gold lasso.

Well. It could have been worse, Harry supposed.

"You okay?" he asked immediately. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Just a few bruised egos," said Diana seriously. "Do you think you can get here? They're talking about wiping out Hal's memories."

That didn't at all surprise him. Technically speaking, most of the heroes were muggles, they had no close blood relationship to any witches or wizards. The consequences for such people learning about magic was spelled out quite simply in the Statute of Secrecy. Obliviation of any and all knowledge of the wizarding world, or magic in general.

Harry turned to look at Padma. "Can you get all this tidied up?" he asked, knowing she'd heard his conversation with Diana.

"Of course," she said seriously. "Consider it tidied."

The lack of any kind of smart-aleck reply probably meant she was still feeling a bit sheepish over Superman's most recent escape. Just as soon as things stopped being on fire, Harry resolved to have a talk with the rest of his auror team. It wouldn't do for the same mistake to be made twice.

"On my way then," Harry said to the mirror. He got a grateful smile in response, before he tucked the mirror back into his pocket.

It took just a couple of seconds to create a portkey to the Hall of Justice. Legally speaking, creating an international portkey without the permission of the MACUSA was a bit of a faux-pas, but Harry was well past the point of caring. If Carruthers or Quahog wanted to kick up a stink about that then they could wait until the current rapidly growing pile of shit was under control.

He appeared in a conference room in the Hall of Justice. It was a fairly old building that had been repurposed for the Justice League's meetings while Wayne Enterprises completed construction on their real headquarters which Zatanna had told Harry everyone was calling the Watchtower.

It was a strange scene to be met with. The room was populated by the petrified Justice League heroes. Batman was there, of course, frozen right beside Zatanna, and the red-clad superhero known to the world as the Flash. In addition to the human heroes, there was also the Martian Manhunter, and Hawkgirl.

Working around them, a small group of witches and wizards were constantly casting spells and comparing notes on the results. Then, finally, there was Hal Jordan, unconscious and looking rather the worse for wear, two auror guards, Carruthers, and Diana. A quick glance also took in quite a bit of damage to the room.

"What happened?" Harry asked without preamble.

The look Carruthers gave him neatly conveyed his annoyance at Harry's decision to invite himself to the country without asking permission. There were more important things that needed to be dealt with, however.

"This asshole burst in and started attacking our people without warning," he said as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the recumbent Hal. "No serious injuries. Just a few broken bones, but the President is pissed. Wants this all smoothed over."

Smoothed over, in this case, Harry knew, meant 'everyone concerned should be obliviated'.

"Hal's actions were rash, that is not in doubt," said Wonder Woman. The look on her face suggested that she was just as annoyed at Hal as Carruthers. "I advised him against it, but he was adamant that magic could not be trusted. To take his memory, though? That would only guarantee that a situation like this can happen again."

"She has a point," said Harry, drawing an approving look.

"Yeah, well, might be I'd agree with you," said Carruthers tightly, "but after your little speech yesterday Quahog is on the warpath about this. Way I hear it, he's been playing every card he has with the no-maj President to try and get this League lot chucked out on their ears."

"It is very unlikely that will work," said Diana. "The President has been very supportive of us establishing ourselves here. He has even argued against our planned move to the Watchtower."

Carruthers rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah. He would. Can't have someone like your boy Superman setting up shop somewhere else. He's no dummy, he wants you all as close to him as he can manage. That way he can steer your heroics in a direction that suits him."

For a moment, it seemed Diana was going to object, but then she simply sighed. "You are right, of course. His support is rooted firmly in self-interest, but it is still support."

"Look, whether Quahog gets the Justice League turfed out or not doesn't matter," said Harry. That wasn't really his problem after-all. "Does he want you to obliviate the whole league?"

"Not just that," said Carruthers, shaking his head. "He wants them to forget they even have powers. Reckons it solves all his problems in one go."

"Quite apart from being inhumane, it simply would not work," said Diana. Her calm and measured tone belied the intensity in her blue eyes as she glanced over at Harry for support. "Many of our abilities are innate, and we do not need to know about them to use them. All you would be removing would be their control, not the powers themselves. That could be disastrous."

She didn't need to go into detail. Harry could easily imagine the kind of damage someone like Superman could do if they literally didn't know their own strength.

"Yeah, I think I'm with Diana on this one," said Harry. "I'm guessing Quahog suggested transfiguring the two aliens to look more like people?" He'd seen that particular suggestion making the rounds at the ICW a few times and it always drew some support, even if it was incredibly unsafe, and was unlikely to actually fix the actual problem.

Carruthers grimaced, but nodded nonetheless. "Got it in one."

Harry knew that the Americans had had it worse than pretty much anyone else when it came to meta-human events placing witches and wizards in harm's way. On top of that, they were also among the small group of nations that continued to push for greater separation between the magical and muggle worlds. It wasn't a good combination.

"You do know there's no way that can work in the long run?" Carruthers might be an ally in Harry's attempts to keep the wizarding world from taking drastic action where the Justice League was concerned but Harry was no fool. He knew that Carruthers had gotten to that point because he was all for near complete separation, and if the pressure on him grew enough, he'd eventually cave. "How long do you reckon it'll be before the Flash breaks the sound-barrier on his morning run, entirely by accident? You'd have to keep a constant eye on them."

"Yeah, yeah," said Carruthers dismissively. "But there's not many more moves I can make here Potter. You might be able to play your Minister like a fiddle, but over here we're not so lucky. I can only ignore him for so long, y'hear?"

"What about a cure?" Harry asked. As soon as the Justice League were restored to normal, any attempts to meddle with them became a lot more risky.

"The researchers reckon the spell was somehow tied to Superman's life-force," said Carruthers. "It's not impossible to break the spell, but without knowing how it affects Superman, we'd be risking killing him."

"How the hell did they manage that?" Harry wondered.

"Asking the wrong man, son," said Carruthers, shaking his head. "All I know is that I'm tempted to try it anyway."

"You'd trade Superman's life?" Diana asked, her eyes wide.

"Hey, he's meant to be a hero," said Carruthers a little defensively. "If you lot had to choose between my life and the lives of my department, I know what I'd want you to pick, and I ain't no hero. That's some pretty simple math."

Silently, Harry agreed with him, though in all honesty he wasn't sure how well the maths, as he'd said, worked out. The number of people who might die because Superman wasn't around to save them would almost certainly tip the balance. Really, it was an impossible question, and the only way to win a game like that was to simply not play.

"Yeah, let's keep that for a last resort," said Harry firmly. There was no way he was going to be letting that happen, and the look he shot Diana hopefully communicated that fact. "How much longer do you think you can put Quahog off?"

"Son, I'm already on the block for delaying this much."

"Get us one more day," said Harry glancing at Diana. "Twenty-four hours, and we'll bring Superman in."

"Even if you do, that doesn't solve the problem," Carruthers pointed out. "Quahog is still on the war-path about this."

"Yeah, well, it'll at least put a crimp in things," said Harry. "One problem at a time."

"You say so, but if this all goes to shit, you're the one with the shovel, y'hear?"

Harry sincerely hoped it _didn't_ go to shit, and he worked out some eleventh-hour scheme to stop the MACUSA or the ICW trying to impose some ludicrous order on the Justice League. If push came to shove, he might have to really put his foot in it. That, however, was not his most pressing issue. He held out his hand for Diana to take but she didn't take it.

"What about Hal?" she asked. Harry had just about allowed himself to forget that little problem.

"He's not going anywhere," Carruthers growled before Harry could say anything. "You want your day, we keep him."

Bristling, Diana said, "You would hold him hostage?"

"Miss, you might be enjoying the results of Mr. Potter's little cult of celebrity across the pond, but this is America, and your friend attacked MACUSA wizards in the execution of their duties," said Carruthers, not backing down one inch in the face of Diana's chilly stare. "The law is the law."

Harry held up a quelling hand before Diana responded. "You know you're not allowed to hold onto muggles," said Harry. "They get healed up if injured, and obliviated if they saw anything unusual. Seems to me like Jordan sees shit like this every bit as often as I do, so I guess he didn't see anything unusual."

"You're playing a dangerous game, son," said Carruthers. Despite his words he sounded almost impressed.

"Well that's what I do," said Harry easily. "You, on the other hand, would just be following established protocol. Wasn't it Quahog who brought that law in? Something about minimal intervention?"

There was a long pause as Carruthers gave it some thought, glaring all the while at Harry for putting him in that position. "In for a jinx, in for a curse," he said eventually. "You owe me for this Potter. If you don't get that Superman, then I'm high and dry."

Harry resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. "If we don't get Superman, we'll all have much bigger problems," he said before looking over at Diana. "Is that acceptable?"

Still not altogether please, Diana frowned. "When he does come around, you will need someone whom he trusts to explain the situation," she said. "I'd advise not allowing him use of his ring until he understands what it is that has happened. As he has just demonstrated, he can be impulsive. Perhaps if you keep him here, J'onn will be able to backup your story?"

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to let him have his jewellery back until after we came to an understanding," said Carruthers wryly.

Harry really hoped Hal took it better the second time around than he did the first time. When he had some time he'd have to ask Diana exactly _why_ Hal had gone off like he had. There had to be some underlying reason for it.

With that particular issue dealt with, hopefully, he turned to Diana. "Okay then?" he asked, receiving a wary nod in return. "In that case, we need to be off. You ready?"

She took a moment to retrieve the lasso that had been wrapped around Green Lantern and returned to Harry's side. "Ready," she said.

Harry laid a hand on her arm and looked over at Carruthers. "And remember, twenty-four hours," he said with as much of an air of finality as he could muster. "No obliviations until then."

The only answer he got was a scowl, but that would hopefully be good enough.

A moment later, Harry and Diana disappeared with a crack. After the crushing moment of travel they reappeared at the Ministry, which was, as usual, bustling with activity. There was the usual ripple of silent curiosity that still seemed to accompany Harry wherever he went. This time, however, he got the distinct impression that Diana was drawing more eyes than he was. Or maybe it was the both of them together.

As he led the way towards the lift, Diana said: "Forgive me for asking, but what was it that your American ally meant when he said you were a celebrity?"

"He was exaggerating," Harry replied. Calling it a cult of celebrity made him sound like… Lockhart or something. "I'm just the favourite gossip column material thanks to some— Well let's just say that I had an eventful childhood. You know how it is, I'm sure. Slaying monsters, fighting dragons, defeating evil megalomaniacs. Earned me a bit of a name."

The look on her face suggested she wasn't buying his attempt to downplay things. "Are such things normal in your society?"

"Not especially, no," Harry admitted. "Pretty much unheard of in some cases, but I really don't think it's all that important. I'm no hero, no matter what some people might like to think. I just have a job to do."

Diana smiled and shook her head. "Is it a job, or is it a calling?" she asked.

That brought him up short. "No, no, no," he said quickly. "None of that. I'm an auror. It really is my job to try and help people. Broadly speaking, anyway.

"Am I good at it? Sure, I guess I am," he said as he tried to work out how to make her understand. "That doesn't make me any more or less special than everyone else. I do what is needed just like everyone else in the auror office; just like a lot of the people out there. The only difference is that I have the training and skills to push that little bit harder."

The lift's doors opened to reveal the auror office, with aurors and other staff rushing to and fro. He saw Padma catch his eye from across the room, and she started to make her way over to them.

"I have known you only a short time," Diana was saying, "but even I can see that your people regard you as more than that. They look to you for hope, Harry. They look to you for guidance; even those who do not agree with you do not discount you."

His reply would have to wait, however, as Padma reached them just as Diana finished saying her piece.

"Good, you're back," said Padma, voice serious. "Superman made a real mess of the museum on his way out. He brought down half of the façade."

That quickly brought him crashing back to reality. "Injuries?"

"At least a dozen," said Padma. "No witnesses though as he was moving far too quickly. We made sure any recordings didn't show anything, but it's.. well it's a bit of a mess. The museum is crawling with muggle police and reporters already."

Bad as that was, there were more pressing issues. If they didn't catch up to Herpo, Harry had the distinct feeling that events like that would become far more common. "What about at the museum?"

Padma glanced at a note she'd taken down. "Looks like the only thing missing after the museum fight is the skull of Drudwyn."

Harry frowned as he thought back. "The dog skull they were standing next to when we fought?" He thought about it a bit and realised that he remembered the name from somewhere.

"The hound that tracked down the boar in the legend," said Padma. "Preliminary assessment of the spell Daphne was using suggests she was trying to use the skull to divine the location of the boar."

"Shit."

That meant that the advantage they'd gained was gone. Previously they'd been able to get a step ahead of them, but now they'd be forced to play catch-up. Worse, they didn't even know what direction they needed to go next.

"You did not say that there had been a fight at the museum," said Diana, a definite edge of reproach in her tone. Harry felt her eyes sweep the length of him as if looking for evidence of it. "What happened?"

"They broke in almost as soon as you left," said Harry. As he said it, he realised that had been some suspiciously fortuitous timing.

"Actually, it looks like they were waiting for their opportunity," said Padma, as if she were reading Harry's mind. "Daphne broke through some of the alarm charms on the rear entrance and snuck in while you two were talking to Geomann. They must have waited until you left, Diana, before they made their move."

"Makes sense," said Harry thoughtfully. "They probably figured they couldn't deal with both of us at the same time after what happened in Scotland."

Diana still looked uncertain of something. "Why not wait until we were both gone? Would that not have been safer?"

"We were talking to Geomann about how to locate the lair of that Boar. Maybe they thought he'd suggest we try and use the skull like they did." That did beg the question of why they decided to do the spell inside the museum, though. Why not just break in, take the skull, and do a runner before Harry could even react?

Did they think that little of him? That would have stung a little, if he hadn't given them a bloody good fight anyway.

Then, he realised that they had a very definite problem. "So, if they've taken the skull, how do _we_ locate the lair?"

The chagrined look on Padma's face answered his question well enough. "Unless we can find something of the boar, blood, bone, hair, anything really, I'm not sure there's anything we can do," she said.

That reminded Harry of something Geomann had said. He turned to Diana. "Actually, maybe you can help. Supposedly, the boar was the cursed son of" —he checked his notebook— "Prince Tared, but Geomann said that it actually meant Ares, or something? Does that sound like something that's possible?"

Diana's hand went to her mouth, and her eyes went wide. "Hera, that is…" she trailed off, gaze distant. "That is possible. Ares always had a close association with boars. If it is true then perhaps we still have a chance, for you see, Ares is my half-brother."

"Making you a blood relation to the boar," he said thoughtfully. There was the entirely separate revelation that Diana was, apparently, an actual demi-god, but by this point Harry had decided to just roll with the punches as best he could. It might be a longshot, but he had to ask. "How many other blood relations does Ares have, do you know?"

"There is Phobos and Deimos, Eris, Eros and Harmonia," said Diana counting them off on her fingers.

"They're all gods though, right?" Harry asked. Admittedly, he only recognised a few of them, but the names seemed to fit. "No other mortal children?"

"Not that I am aware of," said Diana, shaking her head. "Though, I would have said he had no mortal children until now."

He gave Padma a significant look. Ordinarily, attempting to locate familial blood relations was a complete mess, as the vast majority of purebloods were related at least on the level of second cousins. If Ares' children were as limited as Diana said, with most of them residing on Olympus, then the results might _just_ be interpretable.

"It could work," Padma said thoughtfully. "I'll need to talk to the unspeakables, but I don't see why it shouldn't work. It's not a direct relation, but it's still pretty close. If he has as few blood relations as you say then there might be a chance."

"Please, do," said Harry before he realised that there was little else for him to do. "Actually, I'll take Diana down and see if we can get them to do it right away." He turned to Diana. "If that's okay with you of course. It should only take a drop of your blood, and it will probably be destroyed during the scrying."

Diana nodded firmly. "Of course."

"Great," said Harry, pleased. He turned to Padma and continued, "In that case, I need you to gather the team. Make sure they're up-to-speed on Superman's capabilities. We can't have another fuck up like the museum. Oh, and in case this doesn't work, see if we can't get some more arithmancy on Daphne's whereabouts."

"Got it," she said. She wasted no time in heading back out the door. Harry heard her shouting out people's names as soon as she was in the main office.

He turned to Diana. "Right, well, no time like the present."

He led her quickly to the lift that ran between all the levels of the Ministry, and wasted no time in punching the button for Level 9. The Department of Mysteries.


	14. Chapter 14

It wasn't long after their arrival that Harry and Diana were intercepted by whoever was the senior unspeakable on duty. "You are not authorised to be down here without an escort or formal request from the department," he said without preamble. "Do you not have pressing investigations to pursue?"

In theory, when they were in their unspeakable robes, no-one was supposed to know who they were. Usually it worked, as while Harry knew a few of the witches and wizards who worked in the Department, he didn't know them well enough that he could identify them beneath their obfuscating enchantments. The problem was that that only worked so well for the more senior ranks.

"Yeah, yeah, Gareth, that's exactly why I'm here, actually," said Harry.

Gareth Greengrass, the uncle of Daphne, was not a difficult person to identify even beneath the charms, especially when he was clearly so invested in the search for Daphne. Croaker wouldn't have mentioned it, that much Harry was sure of.

The way Gareth's shoulders tensed told Harry he'd been right on the money with his identification. "What do you need, Head Auror?" he asked tightly.

"I don't know how much you know about the investigation," Harry said, though privately he suspected that Gareth knew more about the investigation than he should. For a department so steeped in secrecy, they had a remarkable ability to disseminate rumours. After-all, the only thing they _had_ to keep confidential was their research. Airing other people's dirty laundry was apparently a-okay.

"I know a little," said Gareth impassively, confirming Harry's suspicions.

"In that case," Harry said, "we need to find locations for Diana's blood relatives." He saw no reason to give the man any more information than he already had. He was a smart man, Harry was sure he'd figure it out.

Despite the concealment charms, Harry could tell Gareth was bristling. The body language was hardly subtle. "How precisely would that knowledge aid your investigation?"

"Look, Gareth, you know how this is going to go," said Harry tiredly. "You hum and haw about how it's not proper procedure, and how I need to submit my request officially, then I tell you it's time critical, and to stop bloody getting in the way. It's my investigation, and I'm asking you to perform a blood magic scrying in order to locate a possible lead. Family or not, explaining the full circumstances to you will take time we _do not have_. Do you understand?"

"Do you think I have not already attempted to locate my niece?" said Gareth, sounding frustrated. At least Harry had managed to avoid the usually inevitable hand-wringing related to _correct procedure_. "Surely even _you_ know that any blood search for Daphne will produce so many false-positive results as to be completely uninterpretable. I was nearly blinded when I attempted it!"

"Like I said, we're not looking for Daphne's relatives," said Harry as patiently as he could manage. "We're searching for Diana's."

"Then I fail to see how this will aid your investigation."

"Well it's good that you're not the one running the investigation, then, isn't it?" Harry shot back with a bit more bite than was strictly professional. "We have reason to believe that Diana has some blood relatives who _may_ be involved, and her family relations are significantly more limited than Daphne's. It's worth a try at least. Unless you want to delay us further?"

There was a short pause as Gareth was seemingly caught unaware by the intensity of Harry's response. "I will perform the scrying," he said eventually, holding up his hands, "but it takes some time to prepare, and you _will_ use that time to inform me of what has happened to Daphne."

"Look, fine," said Harry, choosing to overlook the fact that Gareth had just tried to issue him a command. He took a slow, calming breath. It was an endlessly frustrating characteristic of people of Gareth's age and social standing that they seemed to regard Harry similarly to how they might view a talking bear in the Wizengamot. A curiosity, and potentially dangerous in the wrong situation, but definitely out of his depth. Harry had given up trying to convince them otherwise. "I'll let you in on some of what we've learned, but can we _please_ get started?"

There was another delay as Gareth, eyes hidden by charms, assessed Harry's trustworthiness and Harry considered the possible merits of attempting to make the Imperius Curse legal for aurors. Fortunately for both of them, the delay was only a short one. The man might be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, but perhaps Harry's momentary outburst had been enough to convince him that Harry really did have Daphne's best interests at heart.

"Very well," said Gareth. He turned and swept briskly in the direction of the Hall of Doors.

He led them safely through the correct door in the Hall of Doors, and into a chamber that Harry had only been in once or twice before in all his time working with the Ministry. It was the Blood Magic Chamber and, more than any of the other rooms in the Department of Mysteries, it tended towards the macabre.

There were ranks upon ranks of shelves, each filled with thousands of small vials of blood. Most were the easy-to-recognise dark red and brown of ordinary blood, but here and there he could see other vials filled with blood that was green, blue, purple or even silvery white.

He didn't want to know what price had been paid for that particular vial.

Diana looked around with a look of mixed awe and horror. Harry could easily understand that feeling. Every one of the vials was carefully labelled and organised. It was at once mundane and grisly. Even the smell of the room hung in that balance: it was like a musty old library mixed with the lingering scent of a long-abandoned abattoir.

They made their way past the ranks of shelves until they came to the end of the room. There, built into the wall, was a small alcove which was almost anticlimactically barren. All it contained was a rickety old table, heavily worn and stained, no doubt by some of the blood they'd just walked by.

On the table was a small bowl, barely larger than a fist. It was made out of some kind of dull grey stone, and was covered in runes in more intricate arrangements than Harry would ever be able to recognise. Next to the bowl was a single yellowing candle, which had dribbled so much of its wax over the table that it was barely more than a nub.

Gareth sighed when he saw the candle, and muttered something about Gamp never cleaning up after himself. He turned to Harry and Diana. "Very well, what is it, exactly, that you are seeking?

"It should be simple enough," said Harry. "We are simply looking for all those who share a blood relationship with Diana."

Gareth frowned. "You do realise that if you do not narrow it down, you may end up with more results than you might hope?"

"That should not be a problem," said Diana as she shook her head. "My people have not closely associated with Man's World for many hundreds of years."

Harry added, "Besides, this particular person is, if we are correct, rather unusual."

"Unusual?" Gareth asked, eyebrows raised.

"Ares is my half-brother," said Diana simply.

"Ares," said Gareth blankly. "As in the Greek god of war?"

"Indeed."

"But that would make you the daughter of either Zeus or Hera," said Gareth, clearly not believing it.

"Zeus, yes," said Diana in the same kind of matter-of-fact tone of voice that Harry would use for discussing his _own_ parents.

Harry got the feeling that there was a very long story behind that particular state of affairs. He turned to Gareth and, going for nonchalant, said: "So, simple enough?"

"Simple?" Gareth very nearly shouted. "Have you _any_ idea how the power of Greek divinity interacts with the blood magic we are about to attempt?"

"Well, no…"

"Neither do I," said Gareth, deflating almost instantly. "Who knows what havoc such powers could wreak together?"

Diana didn't seem to share his concern. "You will find that the divinity in my blood is much diminished compared to what you fear."

Her attempts at calming Gareth down didn't achieve all that much. He gave her a flat look. "My dear, forgive me for saying this bluntly, but your knowledge in this field is eclipsed even by Mr. Potter's."

"Look, Gareth," said Harry, deciding that they'd argued long enough. "This is the only way we're tracking down your niece today, and if we don't do it _today_ then things will go from bad to worse. So pull yourself together."

"Are you _mad_?" said Gareth, clearly still not understanding the stakes.

"Much as I hate to say it, this is not merely about Daphne," said Harry. He'd ignore that particular question as the answer may well have been 'yes', and that wouldn't help anyone. "She's caught up in something bad, yes, but it's not _her_ that's the problem. I know how much you lot like to whisper and gossip so you probably know that we believe that she may have been possessed by the spirit of Herpo the Foul. It's worse than that, though, as he, through her, also appears to have complete control of the hero known as Superman who could, if the whim took him, break our entire planet in two.

"So I'd suggest you get on the same page," he finished.

There was a lengthy pause, but eventually Gareth gave way. Harry saw the slight drop in his shoulders, and knew he'd won. "Very well," said Gareth. "We will do this, but if anything goes wrong, I want my protestations to be known."

"Yes, yes," said Harry, waving off the last vestiges of Gareth's defiance. "Now, can we get started?"

"Very well," said Gareth, still obviously reluctant. He picked up a small, rune-enchanted knife, and tiny little bowl that was really barely more than a thimble. "Could you please cut your hand with this knife, and fill this receptacle?"

With little more than a confirming glance towards Harry, Diana took the knife and slashed it across the palm of her off-hand. She didn't so much as wince. She clenched her fist over the thimble until a few small drops of her blood had dripped into it. "Will that be satisfactory?"

"Indeed," said Gareth. He levitated the thimble over to the larger scrying bowl, and dropped half of it in. With another spell he spread the blood out over the thousands of engraved runes, until every one glistened a dull red.

As he worked, he asked Harry, "Now, will you tell me exactly what it is that's going on?"

A deal was a deal, and so Harry explained some of the stuff they'd found. He had plenty of time, as the work was no simple task. Harry couldn't follow most of what was going on, as really it was just a succession of obscure spells and wand motions. There was something in there about isolating the influence of the shared ancestor, and Harry also remembered that the actual relationship of the people to be scried, and the person providing the blood almost completely changed the way the spells were conducted.

After he finished describing the recent encounter at the museum, Gareth looked up from his work.

"So, if you do find their location, how exactly do you intend to restrain this Superman?" he asked, frowning. Like most wizards, Harry supposed the man had probably never really appreciated the potential problems posed by someone like Superman.

"This time, we will be able to work together," said Diana with the kind of rock-hard certainty that had even Harry believing her. "Superman is a dangerous foe, but I can keep him occupied for long enough to allow Harry to defeat Daphne."

"Once that's done, it only takes a single spell to put Superman on his arse," said Harry. It was obviously significantly more difficult than either of them were suggesting, but the broad plan wasn't so outlandish. It did neatly skip over the difficulty of actually _hitting_ Superman with spells.

"Hmm." Gareth was, apparently, a little less than convinced. At that moment, however, the bowl lit up, and an image of millions of unreadable spidery lines was displayed upon it. There were thousands of little spots of light dotted all across the bowl. A few were brighter than the others, but it was still a mess. He looked over to Diana. "Do you have any other half-brothers?"

The look Diana gave him could best be described as incredulous. "You are asking me if Zeus, _Zeus_ , had any other children?"

Harry might not be the most knowledgeable when it came to the Greek pantheon, but even he knew how stupid that particular question was.

"Ah, well, yes. Then this may prove more difficult than I had imagined," said Gareth, his embarrassment leaking even through the obfuscating charms. "Do you have any other relations that I might be able to use to narrow the connection down somewhat?"

"Ares may also be my grand-father," she admitted. "My mother never spoke of him in such terms, however."

"That'll do," said Gareth before he muttered some more spells over the bowl. Many of the lines and points of lights faded away, but those that remained still refused to come properly into focus.

"I'm not sure what the problem is," said Gareth, as he waved his wand over the bowl again, which caused it to shift and change once more, but to little benefit. He looked at Diana. "What other relations did Ares have? I believe I may have failed to account for some, and that is causing the spells to become confused."

"There are his godly children, who are well known," said Diana. "Eris, Eros, Harmonia, Phobos, and Deimos" —she counted them off on her fingers— "There is one other mortal child of which I know, called Lycus. But he is long dead."

Another spell from Gareth caused the shapes to shift and change once more and this time the lines became something much closer to recognisable. It was, very approximately, the outline of North America, superimposed over the top of the out-scaled outline of Great Britain.

Harry peered closer, and it looked as if there were a few bright spots visible, but it was impossible to tell if they were in either America or Britain.

"Are you sure he did not have any children in the Americas?" asked Gareth. Another swipe of his hand and a couple of the bright spots flickered. "The east coast, if I am not mistaken?"

Diana's eyes narrowed and she looked closer. "I know of none of godly descent in that part of the world," she admitted, and Harry noticed she looked troubled by the revelation. "Perhaps we would be best served limiting our search to the island of Great Britain?"

"Indeed," said Gareth, and he poked at the bowl with his wand a couple of times. The second time he did so, the outline of the American east coast faded to almost nothing, and the image became much clearer.

"Wales," said Harry as he looked at the location of the remaining bright spot.

"Hardly a surprise, in the circumstances," said Gareth. A final wave of his hand caused the image to expand a hundred times, until it was only a small portion near the centre of Wales that was shown over the bowl.

Harry and Diana both leaned in close.

"Snowdon?" they both said nearly simultaneously.

Harry looked up, and very nearly butted heads with Diana as she did the same. There was a brief moment of awkwardness as he jerked backwards, but he quickly pushed it away. He cleared his throat and said, "Well, I guess that's where we start looking."

Fortunately for Harry, it seemed Diana hadn't thought anything of it, though she did offer him a curious look, as if she was trying to work out what it was that had caused him to react as he had. He wasn't even sure himself. Perhaps he could blame the constant needling from his friends.

That was a problem for another time. Harry turned to look at Gareth. "In that case, I think we have what we need." With a flick of his wand he vanished the scrying concoction, and any of Diana's remaining blood. While he, in general at least, trusted the Ministry, there was a big gulf of distance between that and trusting everyone _in_ the Ministry.

The political issues surrounding the place of heroes in the world were far too significant for him to simply leave something so potentially powerful lying around, even in the Department of Mysteries.

Gareth looked affronted by Harry's lack of trust. "Do you suspect me of some kind of foul play?" he asked.

"If I did, I wouldn't _just_ have vanished the blood," Harry pointed out. "Let's just say that it is much easier to keep something from being stolen or misused if it doesn't even exist any more and leave it at that."

"This is the Department of Mysteries. It is the most secure—"

"Yes, yes, I know," said Harry, interrupting the man's blustering. "But you know that nothing is ever absolute. Let's just call it paranoia." Harry turned and looked at Diana. "We should get going. There's no telling how long we have." They might already be too late.

As they started walking towards the exit, this time apparently without the need for an unspeakable escort, Harry asked, "How's the hand, by the way?" He realised he hadn't actually offered to heal it up for her.

She held it out for him to see, and it was already well scabbed over. "It is healing well enough," she said dismissively. "I have had much worse than that in training."

"Here," said Harry, reaching out to take her warm hand for a moment. He trailed his wand over the cut and murmured the words for a minor healing charm. In seconds, it was as if it had never been cut, and the smooth unblemished skin of her hand was restored.

Diana held her hand up to look at it more closely, probably looking for any hint of scarring and found none. "Impressive," she said as they once more began walking. For a few paces there was a thoughtful silence from her, until: "There is much good that your people could do in Man's World."

That drew a smile from Harry. "I thought the same, when I found out I was a wizard." He remembered what Hagrid had said at the time, about how it only made sense to hide away, because if they didn't muggles would just want magic to solve all their problems.

At the time, he'd accepted that reasoning. Well, really, he just hadn't given it much thought. Later on, though, he'd started to wonder if that was such a bad thing? If a problem needed solved, then _someone_ would need to solve it. If that person could use magic then surely it was only a good thing?

"The problem with it is that we're no better than anyone else," said Harry as they both stepped into the lift, and Harry requested the correct floor. "Good and bad, if witches and wizards join the world, you have to get both sides. Do you think it's worth it?"

"I do not think I know enough of your people, or your powers, to say," said Diana. Harry had to admit, it was a fair comment. He saw her glance across at him for a moment before she said: "If most of them are like you, however, then I think the world would come out ahead."

"Hah! I've been told I'm a bit of a freak, sadly," Harry said drily. He shot her a grin. "The attempt at flattery is appreciated though."

"It was not—"

She was interrupted by the doors opening to reveal Padma.

"Harry, Improper Use have reported a major spike of magic in Wales," she said urgently.

Harry glanced over at Diana, and they traded a knowing look. "Let me guess," he said. "Snowdon?"

"Yes, it— Wait, it worked?" said Padma, eyes flickering across to Diana. "You really are a descendent of the actual Greek gods?"

"Is the team ready to go?" Harry asked, hoping to speed things up. While the expression on Padma's face was no doubt amusing, time really was of the essence.

"It is," she said, nodding firmly. "Susan and Quigley were given the all-clear, and I've asked McDonald to stay past his shift too. Nestry's already gone home, and Williamson and Smith are at the Museum."

"Good enough. Can you organise the portkeys?" he asked before he strode into the middle of the Auror Office and clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "Alright. Everyone listening?"

There was a smattering of 'Yeah's, and so he launched into his strategy.

"Now, at this point all of you have seen some of what Superman can do." He looked around the assembled group, Diana included, and saw them all nodding. "Hopefully that means I don't need to explain just how dangerous he is. At the same time, every indication is that he's a victim here too, so be very careful about potentially deadly curses. Remember, as far as magic is concerned, he's just a muggle, and there's no point even _trying_ something physical on him."

He glanced over at Padma as a thought occurred to him. "Did we hear back on a transfiguring Kryptonite?"

It was obvious from her expression that it wasn't good news. "Without getting ahold of some, they can't even get started on the spell."

Resisting the urge to swear, Harry continued: "Spells with visible manifestations are almost all completely useless. Everything _must_ be silent, and if you can manage it, a few bits of wandless magic wouldn't go amiss either.

"The most important thing you can do is protect yourself. Superman only needs to connect with one good hit and we're down a man."

Diana spoke up then: "I do not think Superman would kill you, even controlled as he is. When I fought him he was most certainly holding back."

"But that doesn't mean he doesn't hit like a lead bludger," Harry added. He dreaded to think what the fights might have been like if Superman weren't obviously still fighting the control somehow.

"What about Greengrass?" Susan asked.

"Greengrass needs to go down first," said Harry, nodding to Susan. "If you can take her down, we might just break the spell that's on Superman. As soon as that happens, whether she's still got fight in her or not, it'll be game over."

At that point Padma reappeared, three empty crisp-packets in hand. "We're good to go," she said as soon as she joined the group.

Soon they were paired up. Padma and McDonald, Susan and Quigley, and Harry and Diana. Harry felt some final words were needed. "Good luck," he said simply before he tapped the crisp packet with his wand, and he and Diana were whisked away into a tunnel of rushing colours.

They arrived to a scene of chaos. Almost before he had even managed to adjust to his surroundings, a huge boar, larger than a bull, flew past him. It was squealing loudly enough to wake the dead, and he jumped back instinctively. Before even attempting to catch his bearings, he cast a protection charm over both himself and Diana.

With that done, he finally had the spare seconds to work out what it was they'd just gotten themselves into the middle of.

Not far from where they'd appeared, the slopes of the mountain split open into a wide cave-mouth, filled with impenetrable darkness. In front of the cave Superman was locked in battle.

There were at least two-dozen gigantic boars, though that was being kind to them. They were uglier than any pig or boar Harry had ever known, with huge tusks as long as his forearm, and every one of them was covered in a mixture of scales, fur and dangerous-looking spikes.

In the middle of them all was Superman. He was a blur of motion as he sped between them. Each punch was punctuated by a reverberating crack as it made contact, but despite that the boars were almost completely unfazed.

The boar that had flown by was already getting back to its feet. It shook its head, but apart from being slightly dazed, there didn't seem to be any real damage from a punch that surely could have shattered stone.

The more immediate problem was that it was looking right at them both, its piggy little eyes gleaming with malice. It loosed a cry that bore very little resemblance indeed to any sound Harry had ever heard from an ordinary pig, and charged straight at them.

Instantly, Harry's wand was in motion. Before the creature had closed half the distance between them, it was met by a powerful freezing curse. The bright blue spell, which left frozen ice crystals hanging in the air as it passed, hit the creature directly in the face in a flash of light and a rush of cold air.

The boar didn't even seem to notice. Through the freezing cloud it hurtled, and it was only Diana's intervention that stopped it. She met it, hand to tusk, and the force of their collision threw out a blast of earth and pebbles. For a moment, Harry watched in amazement as the two battled for traction, which he fully expected the boar to win. Four legs were surely better than two, after-all. Then Diana twisted and the boar, suddenly unrestrained, lurched forward, losing its balance. Diana needed no more opportunity than that, and directed it face-first into the ground, which it hit with a crunching noise.

She clearly had that situation in hand, and so Harry returned his attention to the rest of the battle, as really there was no better word for it.

McDonald was already injured, skewered through the belly by another of the huge beasts before he could even get his bearings following the apparation. Before it could do any more damage he disappeared with a crack of inrushing air. It didn't take long for the boar to turn its attention towards the next nearest person to it: Padma.

She'd been knocked over by it when it had charged her and McDonald. It looked like they'd had even less time to react than Harry. She was quickly finding her feet, but it wouldn't be fast enough.

Harry sent a completely ineffective stunning charm at the boar threatening her. Ineffective, but it still fulfilled his purpose; it got the beast's attention.

It released a howl every bit as loud and terrible as the last, and lurched in his direction.

Ordinary spells were useless, that much was clear, and physical force was barely any better, but perhaps there was something else he could do. He brandished his wand and thick unbreakable chains burst from its tip, quickly tangling around the animal's legs and trotters. It fell to the ground with a much more piggy-sounding cry of surprise, and came to a rolling halt as it struggled against its restraints.

A glance over at Diana told Harry that she had also managed to restrain the boar she'd been fighting, but it meant she no longer had her lasso.

Superman, too, had found a way of dealing with the boars that Harry had never seen before. He simply threw them into the air, far enough that Harry couldn't even see where they'd ended up. He did know that the Hollow was in that direction, and wouldn't that just be his luck?

"Padma!" Harry called out as soon as he realised what that might mean. "Office. Now. DRCMC."

Her eyes widened when she understood what it was that was happening, and after the briefest of nods, she disappeared.

That left just Harry, Diana, Susan and Quigley to deal with the remaining boars, in addition to Superman and Daphne. The odds, which had originally been firmly in their favour, were looking worse by the second.

At that moment he realised that both Susan and Quigley were unaccounted for. Since his arrival, hectic as it had been, he hadn't seen Daphne either.

Finally, he located both Susan and Quigley. They'd managed to find a position a little way up the mountainside, and as such had apparently avoided any battle with the boars. As he looked on, though, he realised something was amiss. They were clearly trying to use their position to take down Superman, but their spells were fizzling out before they could even reach him.

He saw Susan try an animated transfiguration, a huge cat-like creature of rock and stone that bounded towards the distracted Superman. As soon as it got within a few feet of him, it fell into a heap of rubble, the spells completely unravelled.

There was still no sign of Daphne. He cursed. Clearly he was not the only one learning from their fights. Herpo the Foul might possibly be one of the most evil bastards to ever walk the earth, but no-one had ever said he was stupid. In fact, he was clearly smart enough to survive for hundreds of years, and to essentially rule over an entire civilisation.

Even as he realised the potential problems that might cause, the last of the boars was thrown clear over the horizon by Superman. Then, much to Harry's surprise, he did not move. Instead, he stood in the mouth of the cave and folded his arms across his chest.

Another spell fizzled out uselessly just feet from where he stood, and a smirk spread across his face.

The cave must have some kind of magical protection laid over it, but what kind of spell could deaden magic like that? The only time he'd ever seen anything like that was…

The quintapeds. Was it the same magic? Then he saw it, just behind Superman, huge and hairy: a quintaped arm, and it was a big one. Thick purple blood leaked slowly over the ground beneath it. That had to be what was causing the magic to fail like that. If they waited long enough the arm's ability would surely fade, but they simply didn't have time. Even a few minutes would be far too long, and he wouldn't be surprised if it took hours.

"Diana," he said urgently. "He's got a quintaped arm. As long as that's there, there's not much we can do to him. Can you try and get rid of it?"

Her expression was grim, as Harry would expect from anyone contemplating the idea of going up against Superman in a stand-up fight. "I do not know," she said, her voice serious. "By Hera, though, I will try."

"If you can get him away from it we might be able to help too," said Harry as he tried to think of something. There was also the lingering question of where Daphne had gone. Was she in the cave? Had something else happened to her? At that moment, he felt a rumbling vibration through his feet, seemingly coming from deep within the cave being protected by Superman. That probably answered his question. He really needed to get down there.

Diana pulled her sword from its scabbard, and stuck it straight into the ground. Then she threw away her shield. When she noticed Harry's surprised look she said, "They are of little use against him. Better to have the added speed and freedom." She then started walking up the incline to where Superman stood, ready and waiting.

Susan and Quigley, having realised that their spells were less than useless, climbed down from their vantage point, and joined Harry as he watched Diana step forward to meet Superman.

"What's she doing?" Susan asked incredulously. "Doesn't she know that there's nothing we can do to help her?"

"I wouldn't count her out quite yet," said Harry. He wasn't much of a betting man, but the simple fact of the matter was that Diana was a warrior, while Superman was not. Not really, at least. Controlled or not, he was not the one with the warriors training, or the centuries of experience. "Also, we're not just going to let her take him on alone."

"But we tried every kind of magic," said Susan. "Charms, curses, transfiguration, conjuration, nothing works."

"Then we don't hit him with magic," said Harry simply as he readied his wand.

Diana's back was to them, and so Harry hoped that his play wouldn't cause her any problems. He raised his wand high, and focused his mind.

Then Diana stopped, and called out to Superman. "Kal. You can stop this. No more bloodshed."

Superman didn't respond, but his stance shifted just slightly. Harry's arm dropped back to his side. Superman's posture was tense, but it wasn't the tension of battle-readiness. Instead it was the kind of tension Harry had seen and experienced plenty of times before.

It was the tension of someone fighting against the Imperius Curse. Was his proximity to the quintaped arm weakening whatever hold Herpo had over him?

"It is too late, Amazon," said Daphne as she emerged from the cave. Behind her, bobbing slightly in the air, was a huge cauldron, larger than a man. As she neared the quintaped leg, it dropped to the ground with a clang. "I think I am going to enjoy this new time. You Amazons and your troublesome gods were so very tiring to deal with. This Superman has none of your divine favour. Such power under the control of so weak a mind."

"He is not weak," said Diana before turning to Superman once more. "You must fight it, Kal. Think of all of your friends, all of your family. They need you to fight this Kal."

Even from as far away as he was, Harry could see the war being waged in his eyes. Superman's fists clenched, and he even started to turn, but then Daphne raised her hand, and he froze completely still.

"Perhaps not so weak as I thought," she admitted. "But it matters not. His soul is mine, and where the soul goes, his body will always follow."

"Why are you doing this?" Diana asked. She was slowly circling around them both, and Harry realised she was trying to get close enough to the quintaped arm to take it out of the equation.

Fortunately for them all, Daphne either did not notice, or did not care. "I do not propose to tell you," she said, laughing at the very idea of it, as if it was the most amusing thing she'd ever heard. Her laugh was not the lady-like titter that Daphne had, and which had always grated on Harry's nerves. Instead it was a high pitched cackle that would have been more at home coming from a pantomime villain.

"Herpo," Harry called, walking up to stand next to Diana. "There's no way you can come out of this on top, you know. The world is much bigger than it was in your day."

"Ahhha! So you _have_ worked it out," Daphne crowed. "I am impressed, I must say. This stupid girl's memories were most flattering of you, did you know that? And I will admit, she is _most_ pleasing. I can see why you desired her. I think I shall enjoy toying with her. Perhaps I will even find a way to permit you to watch."

Harry felt very real anger then. He'd never had feelings for Daphne, of course, but there was no way he'd let _anyone_ become Herpo's plaything so long as he had a single breath in his body.

"I can feel your power," said Herpo, as Daphne's piercing eyes watched with amusement. "I had thought them to be the mere fantasies of a love-struck fool, but I must admit, I will enjoy seeing you attempt to contend with my newest pet."

For a moment, Harry thought she… he —he wasn't sure anymore— was talking about a basilisk, and he thanked his stars for the fact that he still wore glasses. It didn't take long though before he realised that basilisks took many years to hatch, and decades to reach maturity.

Unless Herpo was talking about some primordial basilisk from his original lifetime, it probably wasn't a basilisk. When he heard a regular, rhythmic rumble coming from the darkness of the cave, he knew.

It was the sound of footsteps. Definitely not a basilisk.

From out of the cave a gigantic figure emerged. First, the creature's skull loomed out of the darkness, a corroded brass crown fused to the bone by years of oxidation. Then the rest of the body followed, crouched, but still as tall as a building, and with bones thicker than tree-trunks.

Their assumption that Ysbaddaden was dead was clearly correct, but it didn't really improve the situation in any meaningful way.

Harry knew that giants had shrunk over the years, but he'd never really appreciated by just how much. He must have been well over fifty feet tall.

"I can see that you are like me," said Daphne as the giant emerged fully into the light. "You have brushed with death, but you lack the strength of will to command it. That is a weakness that will be your downfall."

"Well, shit."


	15. Chapter 15

A fifty-five, maybe even sixty-foot tall inferius of the Giant King classified as a problem, even in Harry's books. Diana, however, looked like she was actually relishing the potential fight. She plucked her sword from the ground, and picked up her shield.

"The big one is mine," she said, her eyes alight.

"Barrier!" Harry called. He really hoped Susan and Quigley heard him. He then focused his attention on Daphne… Herpo. "How about we go a few rounds? Just you and me."

"And why would I do that when I can instead do _this_?"

Harry saw the attack coming before Herpo had even finished speaking. An icy-blue shield flickered into being around him just in time for Superman's fist to meet it with enough force to send out a shockwave in all directions. Rather than hold it this time, he again exploded it outwards, and Superman was sent flying backwards.

Harry smiled victoriously as he saw the interwoven freezing charm take effect on him. Superman's greatest advantage was his speed. By negating that, Harry was able to make him every bit as vulnerable to magic as any other muggle.

There was still the quintaped leg that he had to consider. If Superman got too close to it his charm would surely fade, and so with a swish of his wand he ripped a nearby gorse bush from the ground and set it alight before throwing it neatly towards the severed limb.

"No!" cried Daphne, as she realised what Harry was attempting. She chanted some incomprehensible words, and a torrent of water gushed from her outstretched hand, only to dissipate uselessly before it reached the fire.

Superman, still slowed by the charm, started running in the direction of the fire, but Harry wasn't going to just sit back and allow that. A moment later, Harry's stunning charm hit him and he fell face-first to the ground.

As he collapsed, Harry risked a glance in Diana's direction to make sure she was okay and found that she'd joined battle with the remains of Ysbadadden. Despite any concerns he'd had when it had first emerged, she was taking it apart with an almost methodical precision. In that moment he saw her cleave off the giant's arm, her sword cutting through bone and magical sinew with ease.

A whirlwind whipped up suddenly. A shrill voice, Daphne's but crueller, was carried upon it as it scoured the mountainside. Harry quickly cast his own shield to ward away the worst of the wind, but it still fulfilled its purpose. Daphne directed the powerful wind to suppress the fire enough that she dove into the guttering flames and pulled the charred limb from it. It must have been hot enough to burn her, yet Herpo obviously didn't care about whatever damage might be suffered by his vessel.

"Diana!" Harry shouted. He could see what Herpo planned, as Daphne immediately started sprinting across the space between her and the fallen Superman. Her battle with the giant meant she did not hear him as the giant roared something in some ancient tongue.

Susan skidded to a halt at his side, and Harry glanced over at her. "The barrier?"

"Quigley can maintain it alone."

Trusting her assessment of the junior auror, Harry nodded. Then, together and without needing to communicate, they both banished large stones towards Daphne. Harry's caught her feet, and she went down. She rolled head over heels a little way down the slope, but it was to no avail. Moments before the stone hit her, she'd thrown the charred remains of the arm at Superman, and as it flopped to the ground near him, he stirred.

Not only was the stunning spell lifted, but the freezing charm had been dissipated as well. His eyes snapped open, and Harry saw the tell-tale glow. He threw up the fastest shield he could manage, covering both Susan and himself. The searing eye-beams that Harry had known were coming sizzled through the air until they met the shield with a blinding flash. The attack continued for one a couple of seconds before the beams winked out suddenly.

Once Harry had blinked the shadows from his eyes, he found that Diana had immediately realised the problem. In less time than it would have taken Harry to blink, she'd crossed the space separating her from Superman, and punched him in the face hard enough to break concrete. Superman, however, was far tougher than that. The earth around them was quickly being torn up as they traded powerful punches, and each of them gave as good as they got. Superman was certainly stronger and faster, but he had picked up the charred quintaped limb, which meant Diana was slowly gaining the advantage.

It was far from over, though. The skeleton of Ysbadadden, damaged though it had been by Diana, was still moving, and Harry realised immediately that it was heading for Quigley, who was completely focused on maintaining the powerful barrier that was ensuring that Superman and Herpo could not escape. Despite his concentration, Harry could feel how tenuous its presence was, surely being sapped by the presence of the quintaped leg.

Two huge loping strides, even with one of its legs broken, were enough to close the distance. Harry knew that he had to protect Quigley if the barrier was to stay up. At the same time a torrent of fire rolled over the mountainside towards them from the direction of Daphne, only to be turned aside by Susan.

Leaving Susan to exchange spells with Daphne, he thrust his wand out towards the giant and cast the first spell that popped into his head.

Chains, like those that still restrained the few remaining boars, burst from his wand and lashed out across the space dividing Harry and the giant.

It raised its fist high, ready to bring it down with enough force to surely shatter every bone in Quigley's body, but to his credit the barrier did not waver. The fist fell, but when it was less than a foot from Quigley, Harry's chains arrived and wrapped around the arm and torso of the skeleton.

Even from as far away as he was, he could see Quigley's wide-eyed gaze. Harry wouldn't be at all surprised if he'd actually pissed his pants. To his great credit, though, the shield did not fall.

Ysbaddaden's skeleton had been slowed, but not stopped completely. It tried to take another step forward, but Harry pulled back on the chain, and the titan was put off balance. It fell with the same misleading slowness of a tree until, with an ear-splitting crash, it hit the ground. The skull shattered, and pieces of it exploded out in all directions, peppering the area around Harry.

Before the bones had stilled, Harry turned his gaze elsewhere. Nearby, Diana was still locked in a furious battle with Superman. Both were bruised, but neither looked willing to give an inch. A little further down the hill, Susan and Herpo continued to exchange powerful spells. A great serpent of earth and stone rose up from the ground, and Susan tried to encase it in thick chains which simply passed through it as it dove towards her.

Harry sent a lance of brilliant blue lightning at the serpent, which immediately blew its huge horned head apart. As he did so, Diana executed a dramatic move, throwing Superman off-balance, and tearing the quintaped leg from his grip in a single graceful movement. It went sailing into the distance, spinning end over end. Diana did not stop there though. Using her momentum, and Superman's wrong-footing, she continued her motion, and managed to twist his arm up and round in a very uncomfortable looking fashion.

"End it!" she shouted to Harry, and he knew they'd never have a better opportunity.

Before he could act, he felt a frigid wind blow up out of nowhere, colder than anything he'd ever known. Superman's icy breath, he realised instantly. The very air seemed to turn to ice, but before it could freeze him completely, he conjured a tower of flame around him. It roared about him, and he felt it cut through the cold.

He heard a cry through the roaring of the flames, and he instantly recognised it as Susan's. With a broad sweep of his wand he extinguished the flames that had protected him, and took in the scene that was revealed.

Susan was frozen solid in a huge, jagged block of ice. Before Harry was even really able to take in anything else, Diana was hit by a blast of purple flames. Realising the danger, she had released Superman, and crossed her arms to protect herself against the worst of the spell's effects. Despite her efforts, the spell exploded on contact, and she was sent tumbling over the stone and gravel of the mountainside.

Seeing the danger of Superman being freed, Harry attempted to hit him with a full-body bind but he could never hope to keep up with his impossible speed. Without giving them so much as time to blink, Superman sped across the space separating him from Quigley so fast that a loud boom of sound echoed across the mountainside. Suddenly, Quigley's wand was pulled from his hand, and he was held aloft by the neck. His eyes glowed red, almost too bright to look at, but the burning eye-beams never emerged. Instead, Superman just stood there, completely stationary.

"Kill him!" Daphne commanded, and Harry realised that that was the first time Herpo had had to issue Superman a verbal command.

Superman twitched, but did nothing more. Muggle though he may have been, it was obvious that his unwillingness to kill was strong enough to override whatever control Herpo was able to assert.

As soon as Harry realised that, he turned his wand towards Daphne, and a moment later a stunning charm rushed from it towards her. It was clear that Herpo had come to the same realisation as Harry in that moment, and there was another streak of red and blue as Superman moved to block the spell.

The charm hit Quigley, and Harry immediately realised his mistake.

The barrier died for only a second, perhaps less, before Harry raised it again himself, but that second would have been enough time for Superman to circumnavigate the world. He had little difficulty making his escape.

The mountainside fell silent.

Harry wanted to scream or, failing that, blow something up. They'd escaped _again_ and not only had they escaped, but they had the Cauldron with them, and the remains of a quintaped limb that rendered him and his people nearly ineffective against Superman.

That could all wait, however, as there were injured people to deal with. First, he cast a powerful warming charm on Susan. She was probably okay, he hoped. She was blinking in her block of ice which at least told him she was alive. As soon as the warming charm took effect, the ice started melting rapidly away.

Diana was picking herself up from the ground, and while she looked shaky, it was clear she too was in no imminent danger. That left just Quigley, of whom Harry could find no sign. Wherever Herpo had gone, it was clear that Quigley had been taken with them.

The urge to blow something up was a powerful one, but he knew that that wouldn't help anyone, least of all Quigley himself.

The warming charms acted fast, and Susan was soon free of the ice, though she was still visibly shivering, even once it had all melted away.

"W-w-w-what hap-p-p-pened?" she asked through chattering teeth.

"They got away again," said Harry simply, trying to keep his voice level. "And it looks like they took Quigley with them." He shook his head, still frustrated at the incredibly near miss. Using the quintaped arm had been a bit of a stroke of genius on Herpo's part, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he should have seen it coming.

Diana laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, but said nothing. There wasn't really all that much she _could_ say that would make things better, but Harry found himself welcoming the support. A little bit of the frustration melted away.

Despite the fact that she was still shivering from the cold, Susan's eyes gaze immediately snapped to Harry. "W-w-what?" she snapped. "H-how the h-hell did that-t h-hap-p-pen?"

"Short version?" said Harry, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of his tone. "I fucked it. Superman used Quigley to block my stunner, and I guess they decided to take him with them for some reason."

"H-how the hell did H-Herpo keep cont-trol over him with that arm s-so close?" Susan asked. Most of the shivering had stopped thanks to the warming charms.

Harry rubbed a tired hand over his face. "I have no idea," he admitted. That was a question for the unspeakables and Nevins. He tried to think about what they needed to do next. The first and most obvious thing was that neither Susan or Quigley were field-ready.

"Okay," he said eventually. "First thing, you need to get checked over at St. Mungo's. No way I'm taking you into another fight in your current state."

Susan's reaction was immediate. "F-fuck that, they took my partner!"

Harry held up a hand to placate her. "And you'll be there when we go after them, but at the moment we don't know _where_ to chase them. I want you back to full fitness when we find them, though. So, St. Mungos. Now."

His tone brooked no argument, and his reasoning was pretty inescapable. Susan disapparated without another word.

With them gone, only Diana remained. Harry took a deep, calming breath. Angry as he was, he couldn't let it cloud his judgement. "Next, we need to have a _reliable_ way of stopping Superman. Any ideas?"

"As you know, Kal is greatly weakened by even small quantities of kryptonite," said Diana, but the way she said it made it clear that it wasn't a solution to their problem. "Unfortunately, he is always very careful to destroy it whenever he does encounter it. I do not know where we could find any."

That was pretty much as Harry feared. Elemental transfiguration or conjuration often required specific spells to achieve. Until he could get his hands on some kryptonite there was no chance of such a spell being developed. He could try to use a more general transfiguration method, but he would simply end up with a lump of green rock, and it would be every bit as useful against Superman as an ordinary stone.

So, that made it deceptively simple. He needed to find some real kryptonite. The only problem with that was that both Diana and Zatanna agreed that Superman tended to treat any kryptonite he encountered very seriously. Either he hid it away, or he destroyed it completely.

"Any chance he keeps a store of it at that arctic fortress of his?"

Diana looked thoughtful. "It is possible, though it would be unwise to keep something so dangerous around."

Then, suddenly, a thought occurred to him. "Hang on. The museum robbers had some kryptonite that they tried to use, and now that I think about it I'm pretty sure Superman just left it behind."

At the time he'd probably been locked in a losing battle for the control of his own body, it was no surprise he'd left it behind.

Diana looked confused. "I do not remember seeing that in the report," she said before shaking her head. "Though if that is the case then the investigating officers should surely have taken it as evidence."

Finally happy that he had a workable plan for dealing with the problem of Superman, Harry fished out a portkey, and held it out for Diana to touch. "Right. If we can get ahold of that, then all we need to do is find out where they're going next."

The only problem with that, Harry thought as they were both sucked through a swirling kaleidoscope of colour, was that he didn't even know where to start looking.

o-o

"Look, I don't care that you 'don't have enough information to make an assessment'," said Harry to the ever unhelpful Nevins who had been summoned to his office. "I'm just asking, hypothetically, what kind of modification would someone have to make to the Cauldron of Rebirth to make it capable of returning a soul to full life."

"I really can't—"

Harry slammed his hand down on the desk, causing a few of the animated notes to flutter into the air for a moment, startled. "The Hollow was almost destroyed. Two civilians _dead_. One of my aurors is missing! _Theorise_."

From the back of the room, Diana spoke up. Her voice was gentle, but earnest. "Please," she said sincerely. "You must know that lives may be at stake."

"That is exactly the issue, madam," said Nevins, his voice wavering slightly. " _Exactly_ the issue. I'm not an expert on these things."

"Look, Nevins," said Harry, just about managing to dial it back a bit. "Whatever happens, none of this comes back to you. I know you don't usually get involved in this kind of thing, but there's lives at stake, and in this case doing nothing is every bit as bad as doing the wrong thing. You literally _cannot_ make things worse, do you understand? You've seen some of the magic on that Cauldron. What would be the best way to change it?"

Slowly, Nevins nodded. He still didn't say anything, though.

"Please, Mustel," said Diana once more. "You have the chance to save lives. You can finally make a real difference, here and now."

That last bit of resistance broke, and Nevins' shoulders sagged. "Okay. I'll theorise. But you have to understand, without time to actually perform the necessary research, this is all purely conjecture?"

"Of course," said Diana as Harry nodded.

"Well, the _Pair Dadeni_ is a very powerful artefact, but the charms and enchantments on it, if what I've seen is accurate, would not lend themselves to recreating a body. It would need a body to start from." Almost absent-mindedly, Nevins conjured a length of parchment and a quill and started taking rapid notes.

"That makes sense," said Harry, thinking back to the spell that Voldemort had used to return. "When Voldemort regained a body, he needed blood, flesh and bone."

"Indeed," said Nevins. "The _Pair Dadeni_ , however, is a much more ancient kind of magic. I would not be surprised if it required an entire intact body for it to work. Certainly, that is what my understanding of the legends would seem to suggest."

"Is there anything specific about the body they need?"

Nevins looked thoughtful. "Well, first of all, I think we can be sure that Superman would be unsuitable."

That was no small relief. Harry was not sure if the end result of Herpo taking complete control of Superman would have been a wizard with the strength of Superman, or merely Superman with Herpo the Foul's complete lack of functioning morality. "How can you be certain?"

"Of course, nothing in this is _certain_ ," Nevins allowed, looking for a moment as if he'd been caught out. "Superman, however, is certainly _not_ human. Pascal's Precept of Practical Panaffectation was not developed until 1680, and so while most modern enchantments interact with non-human beings as one might expect it would not have been the case in that era."

While that was good news, assuming Herpo didn't find a way to work around the limitation, it didn't really help them all that much "That still leaves Daphne and Quigley," he pointed out.

"Indeed," said Nevins, waving his hand to suggest that it was obvious. "That is where it gets very murky indeed. I do not know enough about the enchantments on the Cauldron to say whether there might need to be some special preparation."

"What do you mean, 'special preparation'?" Diana asked, getting there just seconds before Harry himself asked the same question.

Nevins didn't look up from his hasty scribbling. "Well, it seems likely that the Cauldron would require a very specific type of body."

"Go on," said Harry.

"It is likely that it will need to be dead for it to work," said Nevins, in the tone of a man who was predicting the weather, not the potential end of someone's life.

"Dead?" said Harry, frowning. That wasn't actually as terrible as he'd feared. He remembered the legend, and how supposedly the cauldron had been destroyed when a living man had hidden himself among the bodies being resurrected. "Wouldn't it be fairly easy to find a dead body if that's all that's needed?"

"You misunderstand me. The body may be living or dead, but _the person_ must be dead. He must somehow render them apsyche," said Nevins, glancing up from his notes begrudgingly. "The cauldron must surely work to repair the damaged connection between the soul and the body, but if a soul was present, even in a detached state, it would be the native one that would become bonded to the body. A recently dead corpse would not work as that connection is completely destroyed."

Harry asked the obvious question. "Then how would he do that?"

With a frustrated grunt, Nevins scribbled out much of what he'd written down and looked up fully. "I have no idea! I have no expertise in the area. All I know is the prerequisites any such spell is likely to require. Quite how one would achieve such a state is entirely beyond my knowledge."

It did not escape Harry that Herpo, as the creator and inventor of Horcruxes, was probably exactly the person to know how to do such a thing.

Diana looked troubled. "Surely that would mean that any control Herpo has over Superman would be ended? My understanding is that he is currently using her connection to magic to perform his spells. Whether he intends to use Daphne's body, or Bartem's, that connection would surely be severed?"

"Well, yes, of course," said Nevins with a heretofore unheard-of grateful nod. "The foreign soul would be left without any kind of control for the moments it would take for the Cauldron's magic to work. This is not my area of expertise, but would that not be a good thing?"

He looked between Harry and Diana as he spoke, and Harry was for once inclined to agree with him, but Diana didn't seem to be on the same page.

"Then there must be something more to the plan," she said firmly. "You have seen what a wily foe this Herpo is," she said to Harry. "He knows well enough Kal's abilities. He would _not_ risk his success on a plan that has such a simple possible point of failure."

When she said it, Harry immediately knew she was right. In every one of their fights, Herpo had shown a conspicuous level of forethought and preparation. Even despite finding himself in a world where magic had advanced far beyond anything he had known, he had been able to adapt quickly, and had given them the slip too many times for Harry to underestimate him again.

"Okay, so the plan probably involves putting Superman down for the count before the critical moment," said Harry, drawing a nod from Diana. "I guess that means we have a potential opening."

"It would be a small one," said Diana. "We would have perhaps only seconds to act to save Daphne."

"In that case, we still need to know where they're going." That would surely be the difficult part. A thought occurred to him, and he looked at Nevins. "When Herpo was at the stone circle in Scotland, what was he doing?"

Nevins blinked, seemingly caught out by the non-sequitur. "It appears to have been a transference spell. Really quite ingenious in how it was executed."

Something in how he said it let Harry know that he was going to be getting a lecture, whether he wanted it or not.

"The circle was incomplete, you see," said Nevins, with the kind of academic enthusiasm peculiar to Spell Sniffers and their ilk. "Circles like that one were designed to help channel magic, not unlike wands nowadays, though obviously they were a bit more unwieldy." He chuckled at his own joke.

He was the only one. In an unexpected show of self-awareness, he coughed and continued: "Well, the point, you see, is that each circle has what is called the casting locus. It is a single point where the caster is required to stand to complete the spell. The stones then pull magic from the caster, and allow it to be redirected and repurposed to the task at hand. The Twelve Apostles, however, is missing one stone; the binding stone, the one that begins the process of drawing in magic."

"You told us all this at the time," said Harry flatly. Did the man not understand the meaning of the word urgency?

Nevins glared at Harry as if he was a particularly vexing school child. "I must lay the ground-work if you are to understand properly," he said with his nose turned upwards. "Daphne stood in the hollow that once held the binding stone. The result was that she was still able to act as the _source_ of the magic, without having to be the one _directing_ it. Simply, it allowed for Superman to control a spell transferring something from within himself into her. Everything else, all the clouds and magical power, was simply as a result of the spells Herpo had Daphne cast to ensure she could not resist his influence once he made the jump. I believe the specific nature of the transference also explains why the control over Superman was not significantly weakened by the anti-Magic of the quintaped limb."

"Go on," said Harry.

"The transference was partially magical in nature, yes, but it shared a lot with the magic of the Killing Curse," Nevins explained. "It was primarily a _spiritual_ transfer. Herpo was, in effect, switching hosts. In so doing, however, he left enough of his essence in Superman to continue controlling him. It is a much weakened form of control compared to something like the Imperius Curse, but it is clearly effective."

That at least went some way to answering some of the lingering questions Harry had. It wasn't really all _that_ important to the issue at hand, however. "Going back to the cauldron for a moment, you're saying it required very specific conditions to do the new transference. Is that the same for the resurrection?"

"I suspect it won't really be a resurrection," said Nevins, shaking his head.. "If you really will insist on me _guessing_ , I'd say Herpo's aim will be to completely replace Daphne's, or perhaps your auror's, soul. Excise hers, or his, and then return the body to life with his own essence as the single soul."

One thought immediately came to mind. "Dementors?"

"It might work," Nevins allowed. "However, I am no magizoologist, but I do not believe Dementors are known for being picky. I suspect they would simply consume both souls if given the chance. Superman wouldn't be able to fend them off either, as his non-magical nature would leave him helpless."

"So not Dementors, then," said Harry, disappointed once more.

"What other possibilities are there?" Diana asked.

"As I said before," said Nevins. "I do not know. Soul magic is amongst the darkest of arts, and has been suppressed for millennia. The Killing Curse is of course the most obvious option, but I do not believe it would be possible for Herpo to shield himself from its effects."

That reminded Harry of what he'd experienced after Voldemort had hit him with the curse. He'd had the choice then to move on, and had turned it down. What if Herpo could work out how to recreate that result? Was that even _possible_ to recreate knowingly?

"Perhaps we need not know exactly how he intends to manage the feat, only that he intends to," said Diana slowly. "We can at least be sure that his goal is to take complete control of a body."

That did make sense, though Harry still felt uneasy. Assumptions had a tendency to bite him in the arse, as had been demonstrated a few times over the last few days. He'd been following the rules when Herpo clearly had none.

Harry needed a trump card of his own in case they were wrong. He needed that kryptonite.

The only problem was that the attack on the Hollow had the Ministry in an uproar, and the only kryptonite they actually _knew_ about was probably being kept secret by muggles. It would take too long to get it through official channels. It would be hours at best. They didn't have hours.

He was already sailing pretty close to the wind, but he didn't see another alternative. If it was a choice between his job and the lives of Daphne, Quigley and, potentially, many more, it wasn't even a choice.

"Okay," he said eventually. He stood up and walked over to the door of his office and pulled it open. Padma, looking more than a little the worse for wear after helping the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures out with wrangling the Twrch Boars, glanced up at him. It had not been easy to corral them, and even though all the witches and wizards who'd been dining at the Hollow had been able to escape, Pipsim and one of the other House Elves had died as a result of their efforts to protect their home. It was all starting to take its toll on her, just as it was taking its toll on him.

"You think of something?" she asked, her words no longer as quick and precise as they ordinarily were.

"We need to work out where Daphne's headed next," he said. "Have someone bring in Astoria Malfoy, see if we can track her down through blood. And have someone run the Arithmancy again. We need that location." A thought occurred to him. "Actually, have someone check in with Old Aimsleigh, the Goblins' Witch Hunter. Maybe he's got something we can use."

"And if we get it?"

Harry was already on his way to the Atrium. He called over his shoulder, "Take Diana, and everyone on the payroll. Then tell me where, too. I'm nipping out of the office."

He felt a momentary gust of wind ruffle his hair, and found Diana had seemingly materialised at his side.

"You're leaving?" she said with no shortage of incredulity.

"With a bit of luck, I'll be back before we have a location for Daphne," he said, not breaking his stride. "We need an edge they're not expecting if we're to do this."

She folded her arms in front of her, and her blue eyes blazed. "Then why am I not going with you? If it is as important as you say, then we cannot risk you being abducted by Superman while you are alone."

"I'll be fine," said Harry, and from his pocket he pulled out his invisibility cloak. "I'll be under this. I need you here to stop my team from getting completely flattened by Superman if something does happen."

"What is that?" said Diana, and he realised that, of course, she didn't know what it was.

"Invisibility cloak," he said simply. He threw it on briefly, disappearing completely from her sight, before he removed it again. "It's much more effective than the disillusionment charm."

"That is remarkable," she breathed, reaching out to touch the silky material. "I could see not a single sign that you were still there."

"Exactly," he said. He was confident that even Superman wouldn't be able to detect him when he was under the cloak. Not that he expected to encounter Superman.

They stopped at the lift to the atrium.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, and Harry detected an edge of worry in her tone.

Had he not felt so emotionally exhausted, he would have tried for a reassuring smile. As it was, he simply tried to inject as much certainty as he could manage into his tone. "Get us our edge, I hope."

The look she gave him expressed her misgivings more succinctly than any words could have. He shouldn't say anything, Harry knew, but there was no way she'd let him off without something resembling an explanation. He glanced around, making sure that no-one was too near, before leaning in close. Into her ear he whispered: "I'm going to steal some kryptonite."

Then, before she reacted, he stepped into the lift and was gone. As the door closed, he saw her frowning at him, her expression impossible to interpret.

He was probably about to end his own career, but there were more important things at stake.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to everyone (to those who do not celebrate Christmas: Happy Random Day In December When Steelbadger Posts A Bunch Of Things For Once)!
> 
> As a gift to you all, I will be posting two chapters of this story, in addition to a new chapter of my more popular story, The Shadow of Angmar. In the UK, we will sadly be unable to see much of our families at this time, and I'm sure many people in other countries will be experiencing something similar. I can't really do much about that, I'm afraid, but I can drop a whole bunch of words. Hopefully they brighten the days of at least a few people.

New Scotland Yard, the location of the Headquarters of the Metropolitan Police, was one of the few muggle locations afforded a level of magical protection. Harry remembered being briefed on them when he'd become Head Auror, but in this case those protections would be of very little help indeed.

Not because they were ineffective, and certainly not because Harry knew what they were. They remained very formidable defences, at least when it came to lone intruders. No, the issue was that the people pulling the strings at the Met didn't actually _know_ about the protections.

So they'd moved a lot of their different crime units off-site in aid of reducing the level of centralisation. That included the fairly new Extraordinary Crimes Unit. It hadn't gone far. Just a short walk down the road in fact, to a building that might be more accurately called a bunker. Harry had been pushing to have protections extended to the new building, but it had been stalled for weeks by the Wizengamot. It was a little ironic that their foot-dragging was, for once, going to make Harry's life easier.

As soon as he emerged from the gentleman's loo in Whitehall, Harry threw on his invisibility cloak. The walk from the Ministry's main entrance to his target was a short one, and he used what little time he did have to concoct a plan for getting to the kryptonite.

He'd seen just what muggle technology could achieve when combined with an incisive mind. While it was unlikely the Metropolitan Police had anyone on the payroll quite as razor-sharp as Batman, it still bore remembering.

It wasn't long before he arrived at the building. Still safely concealed beneath his invisibility cloak, he did a quick loop of the building. Quite what it had been before the sudden upshot in metahuman activity had caused the muggle leadership to set up the new unit, Harry wasn't sure. Whatever it had been, it had obviously been designed from the very beginning to be very hard to get into.

There was just one door in or out, and it was absolutely massive. It was least a metre thick, and made out of seemingly solid metal. It was also protected by more than a dozen armed men: a couple of police officers, and a handful of soldiers.

The guards proved pointless, as Harry ghosted right by them. He paused before he actually stepped through the door, however, when he saw one of the men tap a button pinned to his shirt before walking back through the door. It was followed by a chirping noise, from a nearby speaker, and while he didn't know exactly how it operated, he knew it would present a potential stumbling block.

He should have thought about the fact that the place had surely been designed to offer at least some level of protection against metahumans. He had no doubt that he could finagle his way around any and all protection measures they might deploy with a bit of time and ingenuity, but he didn't _have_ that time. He also didn't know what the actual measures were.

There was nothing for it. He'd have to approach it more directly.

After retreating to a safe distance, and making sure there was no-one nearby to observe his appearance, he pulled the cloak off and, without even pausing, turned to walk back towards the bunker.

This time the guards saw him coming immediately. They didn't raise their weapons, or even react much at all, but he could feel their eyes follow him as he crossed the open space towards the security post just outside the huge vault door.

"I'd like to speak to DCI Thompson," he said by way of introduction. He held out his faked I.D. for them to see.

One of the armed officers came forward. She was a female sergeant with short brown hair and a bored expression, who nevertheless exuded a sense of competence. She took the I.D. from his outstretched hand, and peered at it closely. Eventually, she looked up, seemingly satisfied, but there was an edge of suspicion in her eyes. "This is very irregular, sir," she said as her eyes searched him up and down. "Standard procedure is to call ahead."

"Sorry about that, sergeant," said Harry, trying his best to look contrite. "I was just walking along the embankment when something occurred to me regarding a case of Thompson's. Thought I'd pay him a visit but I admit, I'd forgotten how much security has been getting beefed up here recently."

"Some arsehole with a home-baked teleportation device tried to get in just last week," said the sergeant, shaking her head. "Managed to smear himself all the way up the wall, and half-way across the ceiling instead. Believe me, the security is needed."

"You'll hear no argument from me," said Harry, grimacing at the mental image that was conjured.

She hummed, though Harry got the impression that she hadn't really listened to him. Eventually, she came to a decision. "Alright. I'll call down to Thompson, if he's in. See what he says."

"Much appreciated," said Harry, hopefully managing to keep the impatience out of his tone. It wouldn't do to look too desperate.

He waited as patiently as he could manage while the sergeant disappeared into the bunker and around a corner. The other guards eyed him occasionally, but there was no indication that it was anything more than idle curiosity on their part.

Just as Harry started to think he'd been forgotten about, the sergeant re-emerged from the bunker, chatting merrily with the Detective Inspector.

The moment he caught sight of Harry, his expression shut down, and a scowl settled over his features. He broke off from the sergeant, and approached Harry. "Well, what's this about then?"

"I'll get right to the point," said Harry, hoping to appeal to the man's straight-forward personality. "The lump of kryptonite found at the scene. I need to take a look at it."

There was the slightest twitch from Thompson that let Harry know he was concealing something. Suddenly, he realised what had been missing from the muggle's reports.

Thinking quickly, Harry took a bit of a punt: "You haven't sold it on already, have you?"

"What?" said Thompson, and the crack in his brusque demeanour grew a little more obvious. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Harry really didn't have time for whatever game it was that Thompson was playing. He needed that kryptonite, and lives were on the line. "Did you _forget_ that I was right there at the Museum?" Harry asked him almost incredulously. "Perhaps we should raise this with our superiors?"

That got through. "No!" said Thompson, probably a little louder than he'd intended if the worried flicker of his eyes over towards the guards was anything to go by. "Look, I haven't sold it on yet, but how did you know about the offer? I scratched every mention of that damned rock from all the reports."

"And therein lies your problem. Like I said, I knew it was there already," said Harry, barely able to believe his luck. "So either your people are incompetent, which, given the precision of everything else in the report seemed unlikely, or you were hiding it."

"Look, I know I shouldn't have done it, but they offered me so much money," said Thompson, his previous coarseness almost completely evaporated. "I still have it though. The transfer was going to happen this evening."

"Well, it's good to know that you're a high-priced traitor, at least," said Harry blandly. On the one hand, people who broke the rules like that pissed him right off. On the other, it was also pretty much exactly what he was hoping to do himself. Minus the selling it to the highest bidder part, of course.

Perhaps his dismissiveness was a little overdone. A spark of defiance was kindled in Thomson's eyes. "I've done this job with courage and distinction for longer than you've been out of nappies."

"I'm sure." There was no point rising to the man's barbs. Harry knew he held all the cards. "Now, are you going to release the kryptonite to me or not?"

It was almost painfully obvious what went through Thompson's head then, without even the lightest touch of legilimency. His eyes flickered from Harry, over the guards, to the bunker and finally back to Harry. He opened his mouth to speak, but Harry beat him to the punch.

"I'd suggest you _don't_ try and pull a fast one," Harry said, hoping to cut that particular line of thought off before it could really get going. "I'm sure you think you could get me detained here for long enough to do a runner with the kryptonite. I imagine the pay-out is plenty big enough to see you set up somewhere safe and sunny. Don't let my sunny disposition fool you. If you try something like that you'll be getting tried from a hospital bed, understand?"

"How did you…?" Thompson asked, his eyes going wide. His shoulders slumped and he nodded.

"Let's go, then," said Harry, indicating in the direction of the bunker.

With Thompson leading the way, Harry was able to get through the various security measures with ease. He soon realised that the level of inventive paranoia that had been employed in the creation of the bunker would surely have caused him problems. He saw pressure plates, a sealed room that must have done some kind of scan he couldn't recognise, and more than one key-and-password protected door.

Perhaps his cloak would have allowed him to remain undetected. It was certainly better at it than any ordinary invisibility cloak, but he knew nothing about any other unseen security measures. Much better to be welcomed in, than have to break in.

They entered an elevator in complete silence, and Harry felt his stomach lurch as it dropped downwards with impressive speed. Just a few seconds later, it came to a halt. Short as it had been, the speed of their descent surely meant they were a fair distance beneath the surface.

Honestly, he wasn't sure if that would protect them against the likes of Superman, but it was certainly a valiant attempt.

When the door opened, Harry was greeted by the sight of more blank grey concrete. With a small gesture, he let Thompson once more take the lead, and as he did so, he noticed that the man seemed even more nervous than he had been before.

It was possible the man was simply antsy about leading Harry around the bunker, but it could also be some other plan. Harry reached up, as if to scratch his temple, but as he did so, flicked his finger subtly. It would only be the mildest of confundus charms, but the concealed muggle cameras, which Harry was sure were following their every move, had no defence against it. They'd show nothing of interest to anyone watching their feeds.

"So," said Harry as Thompson led him down indistinguishable winding corridors. There weren't even all that many people in evidence, which struck Harry as even more suspicious. "Who was your buyer?"

"Didn't give her name," said Thompson tightly. Despite the coolness of the air in the bunker, he was starting to sweat.

Another lie, Harry knew. He sighed. "Look, Thompson," he said eventually. "The more you lie to me, and the more you try and come up with some scheme to get away from me, the worse it gets for you. Do you understand?"

They reached a very robust looking blast door, and Thompson turned to look at Harry directly. He held his gaze firmly. "Yeah, yeah, alright. You got me. Asian bird. I got a picture of her and ran it. Name of Mercy Graves."

The name meant nothing to Harry, but he stored it away in the back of his mind just in case it turned out to be important in future. He could always forward the information to the proper authorities anonymously.

Thompson tapped away at a little screen for a few seconds, and the door hissed open. The room beyond was filled with ranks of shelves and a smell of must. Most of the shelves were empty, but a few closer to the door were stacked with simple cardboard boxes.

"Secure lockup," said Thompson, a bit unnecessarily in Harry's opinion. "It's casefile 16."

Harry didn't comment on the fact that it had an unreasonably low casefile index. Instead, they both entered the room, and Thompson quickly led Harry over to the correct shelf. He pulled the box down, and set it on a simple steel table nearby.

Inside the box was… not all that much. A few papers that looked to be fairly run-of-the-mill paperwork, but as Thompson pulled it out, Harry caught a glimpse of the name 'Adam Day' which he immediately recognised. One of John Constantine's messes.

He'd been a priest, and a criminal who had dabbled in the occult. That certainly explained the casefile's index, as it had been a few years ago. It was surprising, and not a little worrying that the muggles even _had_ a case-file on it.

Then, beneath the papers Thompson revealed a box, and handed it across to Harry.

"Here. This is it," he said, holding it out to Harry.

Whatever was in the box, Harry knew full well it wasn't kryptonite. Despite that, he took it from the man and stuffed it into a pocket. Whatever _was_ inside it, he knew it was probably a very bad idea to leave it to muggles.

Thompson looked taken aback by Harry's apparent show of trust. He licked his lips, and glanced at the pocket which held the box. "You're not going to check it?"

"I don't see why I should," said Harry as he gathered together the other bits and pieces inside the box. A moment later they went into the same pocket. "It's obvious that the kryptonite wasn't in the box. Care to stop fucking me about before I lose my patience?"

There was a brief pause as Thompson realised he'd been rumbled, then the man sprung into desperate action. He swung his fist at Harry, who stepped immediately out of reach. He'd been expecting something like that.

Then, with only a slight flick of his wrist, the man was frozen in place in plain defiance of gravity.

"I wanted to make this easy for you," said Harry with a rueful shake of his head, "but you just had to make it hard."

He rubbed his face with one hand, while the other withdrew his wand from his inside jacket pocket. He never looked forward to doing what he was about to do. " _Legilimens._ "

It was but the work of a moment to cut through the man's rising panic to find the correct location for the kryptonite. The man's thoughts were so tied up in the guilt that it would have been just about impossible to _miss_ it.

"Are you serious?" Harry asked the completely motionless Thompson as he resurfaced from the man's mind. He reached over and fished around in his trouser pockets for a moment until he found his prize.

The small green rock glowed in a way that made Harry feel slightly uneasy, but he quickly stashed it away too.

Once that was done, he flicked his wand, and the empty evidence box floated back to its correct place then he turned back to Thompson. Terrified eyes watched his every movement.

"Don't worry about it," said Harry as he brought his wand up again. "This was all just a bad dream. _Obliviate._ "

Then, without so much as a second glance, he twisted on his heel and apparated away. A word in the ears of the right people about missing evidence, and Thompson would get what was coming to him.

o-o

When he arrived back at the Ministry, all hell had broken loose. It hadn't exactly been a model of calm and efficient crisis management when he'd left, but it had somehow managed to get worse.

As he walked into the auror office, where people were milling back and forth with the kind of undirected urgency that spoke to blind panic, a voice called out: "Potter!"

Harry had to suppress a groan when he recognised the owner of the voice as Robards. He was flanked by Bobby Simkins, a Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and Leonora Hubble, the Master Handler of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. They were both career arse-coverers in much the same vein as Robards. Their presence did not bode well.

"It may have escaped your notice, but I'm a little busy at the moment, Gawain," said Harry, hoping to avoid whatever useless posturing Robards had planned. Hadn't Shacklebolt told him to stay away?

"Oh, we noticed," Robards snapped. "What the _hell_ happened in Wales? What about in London? The public are already in an uproar, and the bloody Prophet hasn't even had a chance to run the story yet!"

"My team have had to obliviate no fewer than 427 muggles at the museum," said Simkins, his voice shrill. He was a thin man, with a similarly thin and pinched face. It was a look which was further accentuated by the tight-lipped scowl which seemed to be a permanent fixture. "We've received a request from the muggle Prime Minister herself for an explanation as to what happened!"

"The beasts you unleashed in Wales injured five of my best beast wranglers," said Hubble, eager to get in on the action as she adjusted her golden pince-nez to better allow her to look down her nose at Harry.

"I'm sorry," said Harry, frowning and looking between them. "Are you complaining about the fact that you had to actually do your jobs for once? Those _are_ your jobs, right? My job, on the other hand, is to bring dark witches and wizards to justice, which is exactly what I've been trying to do."

"Your word games won't get you out of it this time, Potter," said Robards, and Harry wasn't sure if it pleased or frustrated the man. "You've put the Statute in danger thanks to your reckless need to be painted as a hero. Not to mention the number of wizards in good standing who were put in danger by your little stunt in Wales. Even Shacklebolt won't be able to protect you this time."

Harry wasn't so sure. The only way they'd be able to get rid of him was through the Wizengamot, and he'd be the first to admit that he'd never been especially popular with the old-guard. They'd always seemed far too worried about just what he might get up to if he didn't have a bunch of crusty old men watching his every move to actually get rid of him though.

Maybe Robards was right, maybe he was wrong. What Harry did know was that there were more important things on the line than his job.

"Well, go and knock yourselves out, then," he said with a shrug. "In the meantime, I'll actually try and help people, if that's not too much trouble for you?"

Without waiting for them to reply, he pushed past them, and immediately caught Padma's eye. She was already dressed for dragons, and Harry immediately knew that something new had come up.

"What's happened?" he asked. It didn't take a genius to get the general idea but he had no idea just what manner of disaster Daphne and Superman had caused.

"Old Aimsleigh turned up at St. Mungos, and he's a right mess," she said rapidly, as she led the way through the office. "The healers are doing what they can, but it's going to be touch and go."

That still didn't really explain why Padma was dressed for auror duty. "Do we know what happened to him?"

"Bit of everything is my understanding," said Padma. Her grimace neatly communicated just how bad it must have been. "Most important thing is that we traced his portkey to just outside Malfoy Manor."

There was a brief break in Harry's step. He glanced over at Padma. "Have we seen _any_ evidence that Astoria's been harboring them?" If she _had_ , then she deserved a medal for the performance she put on. He wouldn't put it past her; the Greengrass women could be slippery, but there was one thing that gave him pause.

Draco Malfoy was _not_ a particularly good actor. Either he did not know, which Harry found somewhat hard to believe, or there was something else going on there.

"We don't know," Padma admitted with a shake of her head. "Aimsleigh's a paranoid old bastard. If he got caught unawares then I wasn't about to send anyone else down there to take a look without proper backup."

In this case, 'proper backup' apparently meant the entire auror force, if the people gathered in the office were anything to go by.

"Good job," said Harry, nodding as he cast his gaze over them all. The aurors had never been the biggest department in the Ministry. It was pretty damned small really. If you ignored the ancillary staff who were not technically part of it, they numbered only a dozen or so. Still, they were meant to be the elite, and Harry would happily pitch them against the likes of the Law Enforcement Squad.

Bones had a look like thunder on her face as she sat at her desk, staring into space seemingly unseeing. Williamson was lecturing Smith on correct procedures when apparating into a potentially hostile environment. McDonald and Nestry were both chatting quietly with Nestry's old auror trainer, Emer McHugh. In the corner, Harry spied the silent old-timer Elbert Bulstrode sitting apart from everyone else.

That meant they were only missing two. The Zabinis were still on holiday somewhere in Africa, and Harry doubted they'd be joining the party.

They all had their differences, and Harry had never even seen Bulstrode so much as acknowledge Quigley's existence, but he was proud to see them all ready to step up for one of their own.

It took him a moment to realise that actually there _was_ someone missing. He frowned, and asked: "Where's Diana?"

"She's around somewhere," said Padma. "She said she was going to see if she could get us some more help."

"Green Lantern is on his way." As if she had heard them talking, she strode out of one of the side rooms. Given her heightened senses, it was entirely possible she had. "It took some time to convince him to come, but he's heading to the town closest to the manor now."

"The Yanks let him go then? No injuries, I hope?" Harry asked. Judging by the way she'd said it, it seemed a safe bet.

"So it would seem," said Diana, sounding a little uncertain. "He was a little vague on the details, but I believe your friend Carruthers did something to him. He seemed unusually cheerful."

"Ah," said Harry. Given the situation, maybe a cheering charm or two to make sure Jordan didn't immediately try to attack or escape was to be expected. It was, however, pretty unlikely that they would win them any favours with the man once they wore off. "Well, at least he's out. Cheering charms aren't permanent."

"Then I guess we're ready to go," said Padma, clapping her hands together. She looked back to Harry. "You'd best get geared up."

It didn't take him long to get ready, and he was soon standing in the centre of the auror office with everyone gathered around. The team, fully assembled, was easily the largest Harry had ever worked with for a single operation. Seven aurors, himself and Padma. Most of them, Padma included, were dressed in thick dragonhide armour, while Harry had opted to forgo the additional protection. He wanted the flexibility and speed of robes. Dragonhide might resist magic, but it wouldn't help all that much if he was hit by Superman at full strength. It also greatly limited the number of protective charms that could be layered into it.

They gathered round their portkeys, and every one of those assembled looked at Harry. It wasn't hard to see the trepidation there. Most of them had seen what Superman could do, and those who hadn't had at least seen the results. Only Diana didn't look worried. Her face was set into an expression of grim resolve, and as Harry caught her eye, she nodded firmly.

"Go," said Harry, and he immediately felt the inrushing air as his team were yanked away by their portkeys.

A moment later, he tapped his own wand to the portkey. The old familiar tug behind the navel pulled him into a shimmering tunnel, and they were away. A busy few seconds later, he felt gravel crunch beneath his feet as the magic materialised him in front of the ornate black-iron gates of Malfoy Manor.

The first thing he saw upon his arrival was a body flying across his field of view.

He reacted instantly, but had it not been for Diana, it still wouldn't have been fast enough. The smack of a fist meeting a hand was more felt than heard. As his wand came up, he found Superman caught in mid-air, his clenched fist outstretched, and held at bay by Diana.

" _Capistro Lentus,_ " said Harry, his wand aimed straight at Superman's head. The strength-sapping spell flashed out, but Superman darted to the side, and it zipped right past, bare inches from his head. The sudden movement pulled Diana off-balance.

With a boom of displaced air, he was gone again, but Harry knew he wouldn't have gone far. With a flick of his wand he summoned a glassy shield large enough to contain both Diana and himself.

He looked around, and his stomach dropped as he took in the scene.

Of the entire auror force, only Bulstrode was still standing, and that was only because he was encased in a chunk of solid ice. Everyone else was down. Superman must have hit them all on their arrival, and it was clear he wasn't taking any prisoners anymore.

Harry knelt down by the nearest of the fallen aurors, and pushed them over. The dead weight of it told him how bad it was even before he saw the mess that had been made of their skull. Witches and wizards were tough, far more sturdy than muggles, but a supersonic fist to the head could still cave in a skull. It was obvious that whatever had been holding Superman back before was well and truly gone.

It was only by her hair that Harry recognised Smith. The young auror had managed to survive the Isle of Drear, only to die senselessly at the gate of Malfoy Manor.

Diana, her attention turned briefly from her search of the skies for Superman, laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder. "She had courage," she said tenderly. "She will find Elysium."

Not far from her was another body, and beyond that another. Most of them were groaning, though, which was a good sign. Not that that would help Smith, nor comfort her family. Harry stood, grateful for Diana's quiet support, and moved on.

The next body was Susan, and her face was also a mess. Either she'd managed the beginnings of some kind of shield, or Superman had had something else on his mind at the time, but whatever the reason, she was still, mercifully, alive. It was clear that whatever resistance Superman had been putting up before, it was gone.

"Fuck me," said Susan, though the words were muffled by her swollen face, and the trickle of blood from her very broken nose. "We didn't even get a chance to blink."

Diana was standing over them both, her stance tense as her eyes swept every inch of sky, filled with dark clouds. Harry looked back down to Susan. "I'm going to send you back to get fixed up, but anyone who's capable should come back down here as soon as they're able. Got it?"

"Got it," said Susan. Her voice was weak, and as she spoke she shifted her shoulder slightly, drawing a hiss of pain.

Harry laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, then looked around one last time as he tried to work out just how bad it was. Bulstrode should be okay, Susan was talking, and a little way away Harry could see Padma's dragon hide robes. He wanted to check up on them all, but knew that would do little but delay any treatment. As he glanced over them, he noticed Padma shift just slightly, and he felt a wave of relief that she was still among the living.

With a flick of his wand he activated every auror's personal portkey, and a moment later their departure was heralded by the staccato pops that filled the otherwise silent evening air. With them as safe as they could be, Harry stood up. He tried not to think about Smith, or the other possible casualties. They were still right in the middle of danger.

"Looks like it's just us," he said grimly. There was no way he was going to let Herpo get away with doing that to _his_ people. He'd bring the bastard in, or he'd end him. He wasn't sure which of those options he preferred the sound of at that moment.

The only reply he got was the very briefest of nods as Diana continued to watch the sky for any sign of Superman.

It occurred to him that in the circumstances, Diana would probably be the one best able to use the kryptonite against Superman, so he fished it out of his pocket, and pressed it into Diana's hand.

Surprised, she looked down for a moment. "Where did you get this?"

"From a friend," Harry replied simply. He started striding towards the heavily charmed gates of Malfoy Manor.

As he neared them, he could immediately feel something was off surrounding them. While he was by no means a regular at the Manor, he'd had to attend a couple of events and he knew he'd never felt anything quite so murky and insidious.

He held out an arm to stop Diana going any further. "Stop. Herpo has done something to the protections."

As his wand traced back and forth across the gate he saw the dark magic that surely could have only come from Herpo. The Malfoys had certainly never shied away from using some pretty unpleasant spells and curses when it suited their purpose, but it didn't take Harry long to realise the simplicity of the curse that had been laid on the gate.

He'd seen enough variations on the withering curse to know that was what he was seeing, though it was slightly different to any he'd seen before. That was probably to be expected.

It did mean he couldn't be sure what Herpo's specific version of the withering curse would actually do. The first thing to try was probably transfiguration, but just as he was about to transfigure one of the nearby ornamental stones which flanked the gate, he was startled by the sound of feet crunching on the gravel.

Green Lantern had arrived. He was dressed in his usual uniform, and had a deep scowl on his face. Evidently the cheering charm had worn off.

"Who's this?" he asked without any pre-amble.

"Hal," said Diana, and Harry caught a slight edge to her voice that seemed to neatly communicate a command to play nice. "This is Harry Potter."

Harry wouldn't have thought it possible, but if anything the scowl deepened even further. "Wizard?" The Green Lantern ring on his finger pulsed alarmingly.

"That's me," said Harry, making a concerted effort to keep his voice even. He'd let the man have his resentment, but they really didn't have time for it. "Pleasure."

Without so much as acknowledging Harry's greeting, Hal continued: "So, where's Supes?"

"I do not think he is far off," said Diana, and as she spoke her eyes did another quick scan of the sky. "We've already had a run-in with him."

"Didn't go well," Harry supplied. That was an understatement. If he was being terse he figured it was warranted in the situation. "Took out seven of my people in less than a second. Seems his self-restraint is not what it was."

"You need to get in there?" Hal asked, pointing to the gate. "Can't you just go over?"

"Yes, we do," said Harry. He didn't really want to go into the details of exactly how protective magic worked, and the importance often afforded to physical tokens. Instead, he said: "and, short answer, no. But—"

Before Harry could finish speaking, a massive fist had materialised in front of Green Lantern, connected to him by a million spindly lines of green light. Without so much as a second's pause, he punched the gate with enough force to completely destroy any mundane structure.

Ordinary gates, however, are not charmed to be impervious, and cursed to wither the mind and body of anything that comes into contact with them.

The moment the green construct met the gate it stopped, and Harry could feel the force of the collision through the ground. Out from every point of contact between the gate and the fist, spidery lines of glowering orange light spread out, like cracks in glass.

Green Lantern's eyes went wide. "What the—"

"End the construct!" said Harry urgently but Green Lantern didn't listen.

His expression became one of extreme focus as he tried to push back against the withering curse, but it was to no avail. The orange light spread further across the fist, completely ignoring the wielder's attempts to strengthen it. As it spread, it deepened, and darkened, until the fingers of the fist were almost black, and the orange light continued to advance until the whole fist was orange, and riddled with cracks. Then the fist shattered, and the broken pieces evaporated into nothing.

"How the hell—" Green Lantern began, before he realised that the orange light had not faded completely. The bright green beam that had linked him to his construct was slowly gaining an orange tint.

"Take the ring off," said Harry urgently, "Now!" This time, much to his relief, Green Lantern complied.

The mixed green and orange light was snuffed out in a moment. With the ring off, Hal Jordan was revealed. He was wearing a leather pilot's jacket over a black shirt. In short, he looked pretty unassuming.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked as the last of the green light faded. "That wasn't the yellow weakness, that was orange."

Harry had no idea what the yellow weakness was, nor really what the meaning of the colour was. "It was a withering spell, and a nasty one too. You're bloody lucky it wasn't anything worse. You should try putting your ring back on. That should have severed the connection."

As Hal did so, and they were once more bathed in blessedly pure green light, he asked: "And how the _hell_ do you know so much about Green Lanterns? How much control do you people really have?"

"I think this is a conversation for another time," said Diana, as she pointed towards the far-off Manor. Strange dark rays, not really shadows, and yet black as night, had started emanating from some of the windows. If Harry remembered the layout, they were coming from the ballroom.

Turning his attention back to the gates, Harry realised that the withering spell had seemingly been spent trying to inflict itself upon Hal's Green Lantern construct. "Actually, I think I can work with this now."

He inspected the spells and charms on the gate further, and realised that even the old protections had almost completely deteriorated. If he was to guess, the withering curse had drawn on them, or perhaps even influenced them directly. He'd have to get an unspeakable to look at it to really be sure though. The most important thing was that the gates had barely anything beyond the ordinary to them.

The powerful blasting spell which followed was probably not wholly necessary, but it was better to be sure. If Superman was no longer dialling it in, then Harry saw no reason why he should either. There was almost nothing left of the gates once the dust settled. As the physical representation of Malfoy Manor's protections fell, so too did the ancient enchantments which shielded those inside.

The settling dust revealed something else. Superman, standing in the middle of the avenue, his arms crossed over the large S symbol on his chest. Where he'd come from, Harry had no idea, but he was clearly ready for them.

"Green Lantern and I will keep him occupied," said Diana, her tone brooking no argument. "You need to get into the Manor and stop whatever Herpo has planned."

Without waiting for him to respond, Diana leapt forward, to be met only with empty air as Superman used his super speed to get out of the way faster than Harry could follow.

With Superman prepared and ready for a fight, and with his inhibitions reduced to almost nothing, Harry had little chance of being able to do much against him. Much though he wanted to avenge his aurors, his real enemy was not Superman. He renewed the shielding spell around himself, and ran towards the Manor.

He just hoped he wasn't too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps this is not the most festive of stories, but it's all I got. I really misjudged how busy I was going to be this December.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to everyone (to those who do not celebrate Christmas: Happy Random Day In December When Steelbadger Posts A Bunch Of Things For Once)!
> 
> Important Note: If you followed an email update notification here, you may be confused. This is the second chapter posting for this story today, so if you have not yet read Chapter 16, I suggest you skip back and do so, it's new too!
> 
> As a gift to you all, I have posted two chapters of this story (this being the second), in addition to a new chapter of my more popular story, The Shadow of Angmar. In the UK, we will sadly be unable to see much of our families at this time, and I'm sure many people in other countries will be experiencing something similar. I can't really do much about that, I'm afraid, but I can drop a whole bunch of words. Hopefully they brighten the days of at least a few people.

The dark oak double doors had been left ajar. They were thick and heavy, but when Harry pushed on them they swung aside easily. Inside, the first thing Harry saw was the body of Fuddle, the Malfoy house elf. It was obvious he'd tried to protect his family, though it had clearly done little to help. He'd been thrown into the wall with enough force to break what looked like every bone in his spindly little body.

There was no time to spare to mourn him, though. Harry tore straight through the foyer, and into the drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

Over the years, he'd seen it in a few different states. The first time he'd ever seen it, it had been dominated by a huge and ornate table, and filled with all of Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters. Then he had seen it almost destroyed in the battle to escape from Bellatrix Lestrange's clutches. More recently he had seen it as it had surely been originally intended, as a grand and luxurious declaration of the wealth and power of the Malfoy family.

Now, it was almost unrecognisable. Every one of the portraits, Malfoys through the ages, had been blasted from the walls; blackened stains or burned, ruined canvases were all that remained to mark what once had been.

The fireplace, which Harry remembered to be solid marble and as tall as a man, had been destroyed. The lintel was shattered, and lay in chunks on the floor. The wall above it was fractured, all the way to the high ceiling.

In the crumbling remains of the fireplace, a huge fire crackled and spat. Long tongues of flame, in deep purple and blue, reached upwards, and the air around them shimmered. In the middle of the arcane fire Harry could see the cauldron. The _Pair Dadeni_ was glowing faintly, but Harry didn't know if that was from some magic, or simply the heat of the fire beneath it.

The middle of the room had been cleared out completely, and any furniture that had once been there smashed to little more than splinters. In its place, Daphne stood, wrapped in dark power. In front of her, Astoria was held fast in shackles of pure magic, watched over by a blank-eyed Quigley. Draco was nowhere to be seen.

"Please, Daphne! Don't do this," cried Astoria before her desperate eyes noticed Harry's arrival. "Potter! Help me!"

Daphne ignored her sister's pleas, and turned to look at Harry as the whirlwind of contained power around her abated just a little.

"Ah, there you are," she said easily, her lips spreading into a thin, cruel smile.

Harry felt tendrils of doubt creep into his determination. She was expecting him, and was completely unfazed by his appearance.

"I must admit," she continued in an almost conversational tone. "Much of your new magic puzzles me. But these 'Unforgivables'? They are a most fascinating development. Your _hemei̯áro_ was most enlightening regarding them. It certainly helped me deal with the _kunáteris'_ frustrating resistance to my control."

"Stop this, Herpo," said Harry as he kept his wand at the ready. "There's no way this ends well for you. Release Daphne."

"Have you any idea, the lengths I have gone to to ensure my own continued existence?" said Herpo, and Daphne's face wore a cruel smile. "Do you truly think that one such as I would simply give that up? And for what? Some weakling, who even now weeps as she is locked into the dark corners of her own mind with my most creative imaginings? Of course you do not, but you are weak.

"I have seen your like more times than I can count. Weak men, puffed up by a false belief in the righteousness of their cause. You believe you are a good man, and that that means something. It means nothing, or less than nothing. You are like a child drawing shapes in the sand, fearful of the great ocean of possibilities that lies just before you. I have had the world at my feet, and so it will be again. This time, I will not make the same mistakes."

"We will see," said Harry simply. He wasn't going to allow Herpo to delay any more than he already had. Silently, he sent a stunning charm across the room at them, but it wasted away to nothing as soon as it touched the dark power coiled around Herpo.

"And so we shall," said Herpo. " _Ku̯napá! Dedei̯menos_."

For a moment, Harry thought it was some kind of incantation, but nothing happened. Then he saw Astoria looking past him, eyes wide and fearful. On instinct, he spun to the side.

A purple spell, trailing smoke the colour of stale blood zipped past, missing him by bare inches. Harry looked for the source, and found Draco Malfoy staring right back at him with the same blank look Harry recognised on Quigley's face.

It seemed Herpo had indeed found a new favourite spell.

There was no time to contemplate that fact, as Quigley joined in the attack too. Long ropes sped across the room, sent straight at Harry from two directions. With apparation out of the question thanks to the continued presence of those protections, Harry had little option but to defend himself.

He sent a powerful cutting curse towards Quigley, which shredded the rope before it could reach him. The force that Harry put behind it meant it continued straight on, right at Quigley, who hesitated for just a second too long. He began casting a shield, but it was too late, and the curse hit him right on his wand arm. Had he not been wearing the dragonhide, he would certainly have lost it, instead the spell cut a series of deep gashes into the thick scales, and sent Quigley tumbling to the floor.

Before the spell had even hit Quigley, Harry was turning to deal with Malfoy. Where Quigley had clearly been putting up some resistance against the Imperius Curse laid upon him, no doubt thanks in part to his auror training, Malfoy showed no such resistance, but that did not mean that Harry was out of options.

He brought his arm across in a broad sweep, and the ruined remains of the once-impressive table lurched into the air to intercept the ropes. Then, before Malfoy could cast his next spell, Harry lashed out with an attack of his own. It was just a simple stunning charm but he needed to get the measure of Draco's capabilities. It had been a good few years since they'd last crossed wands, and while it was obvious that the Imperius Curse had completely subsumed his will, it would not give him skills or knowledge he did not already possess.

Draco's eyes tracked his wand, and the spell, with the kind of single-minded focus peculiar to those being commanded by the Imperius Curse. Silently, Draco conjured a shield and neatly intercepted the spell. It was a simple shield charm. Enough to block the stunning charm Harry had telegraphed, but little more. Continuing the motion of the shield charm, Draco flicked his wand at the single remaining chandelier overhead. It exploded, and every one of the thousands of gemstones swarmed towards Harry.

With a broad sweep of his wand, Harry lifted a dozen thick marble slabs from the floor of the room, and with a speed that belied their weight, they flew to intercept the crystal shards. As soon as that was done, Harry thrust his wand forward. The slabs flew at Draco with lethal speed, each coming in from a different angle.

By that time, though, Quigley was back on his feet, his wand swapped to his left hand. For most witches and wizards that would be a significant disadvantage, but aurors were trained to be able to at least function in such situations.

Fortunately, Quigley opted for a simple stunning charm, clearly hoping that Harry's preoccupation with Malfoy would be his undoing. It splashed uselessly against the shield Harry conjured. Harry then followed up with a transfiguration that filled the room with the drone of thousands of bees, and directed them at Quigley. It should take him only moments to deal with it, but those were moments Harry could use to take Draco out of the fight.

Draco had seen the danger of the slabs of marble which had surrounded him, and had thrown himself through a gap between two of the larger slabs. When Harry returned his attention to him, Draco was trying to regain his feet but it was clear he had landed badly. The Imperius Curse didn't care if those under its influence were injured, but it couldn't make the body do the impossible, and Draco had injured his leg in the leap. There was a weakness on his left side to exploit.

Harry aimed his wand to Draco's right, and shouted: " _Stupefy!_ "

As expected, Draco jumped left, and there was a moment of imbalance as his injured knee nearly gave way beneath him. Then the ground beneath him exploded, sending him tumbling across the room. Draco didn't have anything like the combat training Harry did, and relied far too much on watching his opponent's motions, and listening to their incantations.

Harry hadn't cast a stunning charm at all. Instead it had been a blasting hex, and just like that, Draco was down. A swift stunning charm followed, and Harry turned his attention back to Quigley.

The bees had all been destroyed, but Harry could see a few red welts on Quigley's exposed face which spoke to his slowed reactions. Before Quigley could return to the attack, Harry banished hundreds of fragments of stone and furniture from around the room. Quigley drew up a thick cloud of dust, and it solidified just moments before the debris hit him, but the attack did its job of distracting him. Harry followed with a subtle summoning charm on a heavy chunk of marble behind Quigley's feet, which swept his legs from under him. A moment later, he too was stunned.

That just left Herpo, and after banishing Quigley into a corner, Harry took in what remained of the room.

The cauldron was no longer in the fire, and instead it had been pulled out to sit on the floor of the room, right next to Astoria, who was watching it with wide, panicked eyes.

"Good, good," said Herpo, a gleeful smile spreading across Daphne's features. "I see I did not misjudge you."

Whatever that was meant to mean, Harry didn't much care. What mattered was putting an end to Herpo's plans. He brought up his wand, but before he could cast anything, the ceiling of the room exploded.

Superman crashed through in a cloud of stone and plaster. He was covered in bruises and cuts, and looked shaky on his feet, but he stood upright almost instantly. Within moments, he was followed by Green Lantern and Diana. Neither of them were uninjured, but it certainly looked like Superman had got the worse end of the deal.

In one hand, Diana held the small piece of kryptonite, and in the other she held her lasso. There was a small amount of dried blood crusting one of her eyes, from a cut just below her hairline, but she was unbothered by it.

Green Lantern was encased in an unbroken sphere of green light. He was sporting an obvious bruise on his face, but his uniform meant that any other injuries were mostly hidden.

From out of the dust and debris, Daphne's voice rang out: " _Imperio!_ "

Before Harry could react, Green Lantern rocketed straight at Diana, who cried in surprise at the sudden assault. The chunk of kryptonite was knocked from her hand, and tumbled to the floor.

The wand in his hand moving in a blur, Harry summoned it to himself before Superman or Green Lantern could retrieve it. Thanks to his prolonged exposure to it, Superman's speed was greatly diminished, and his strength was starting to fail. Nonetheless, he wasn't about to let Harry have it all his own way.

Bright red eye-beams lanced through the clouds that still choked the air, but they splashed uselessly against Harry's shield. The power behind them was much less than he'd experienced in their other fights.

Unfortunately, he also had Green Lantern to deal with. A bright green tiger leaped from his lantern ring, growing to a monstrous size as it did. In barely two loping strides it crossed the distance between them, and it threw itself at Harry, claws extended.

Knowing that his shield would hold back physical attacks with ease, Harry focused on the Green Lantern himself.

The rubble littering the floor of the room, the result of Superman's entrance, became a swarm of buzzing, stinging, biting insects which he immediately directed at Green Lantern. There weren't many real weaknesses to the Green Lantern power, but the requirement for concentration was something he could perhaps exploit.

A huge muggle bug-zapper materialised, but completely failed to draw Harry's swarm in. They weren't ordinary insects and had little interest in light or warmth.

Across the room, Diana and Superman were once again locked into a battle. With his powers lessened, it was quickly becoming clear which of the two was the trained warrior. His speed and strength advantage largely gone, he was lucky to land one hit on Diana for every ten she laid upon him, and it was quickly wearing him down.

"Enough!" cried Herpo, and with a swipe of Daphne's hand he banished what remained of the swirling cloud of dust and insects.

As soon as Herpo spoke, Superman and Green Lantern broke away to stand next to the cauldron, which was still glowing brightly. The liquid inside shimmered and bubbled, like boiling quicksilver.

"Release their minds!" said Diana, though Harry thought they both knew there was little chance of that happening.

Herpo simply ignored her, and at a gesture from him, a cage of green light sprung up around her, the four sides coming together with a loud clang. She beat her fists on the thick bars, and even managed to bend them a little thanks to her impressive strength, but they didn't break.

"Do you see how hopeless your fight is?" said Herpo. Daphne walked forward a few paces, completely ignoring Diana's attempts to get free. Despite knowing that it was not Daphne in control, it was still strange to see the change in her stride. Gone was the elegant sashay that she had surely spent years cultivating, replaced by something far more predatory. "Really, if you wish to save these pathetic creatures, you have but one choice. Step into the cauldron, and give your body up to me. Then, perhaps, I will allow some of my slaves to live out the day at the very least. The Amazon would certainly make a pleasing consort, if I can but break her spirit without doing too much damage to her appearance. I have grown tired of the willful ones."

"Do you really think I believe you?" Harry asked, almost incredulous. After everything that Herpo had done and said, there was no chance at all that he would not leave a bloody swathe wherever he went. Perhaps Superman and Green Lantern would indeed survive, but as nothing more than the most miserable of slaves.

"It matters not whether you _believe_ me," said Herpo, and he looked altogether too pleased with himself. "All that matters is that you cannot allow others to die in your place. I know this. You know this. It is a foregone conclusion. It is the eternal weakness of your kind."

Tired of talking, Harry silently and motionlessly sent a stunning charm at Herpo, but before it could reach him, a wall of green light materialised between the two of them. The spell burst uselessly against it, and both faded back to nothing.

"Finished?" Herpo snapped, impatience leaking through. "How much longer must we play this game?"

Harry was not finished. Green Lantern might be able to block stunning charms, but he had more up his sleeve than just those.

A cloak of thick, choking smoke flooded from the tip of his wand, creating an impenetrable barrier between him, Herpo, Superman and Green Lantern. Impenetrable for the enemy, at least, as Harry could see through it with ease.

Both Superman and Green Lantern tried to remove the cloud. Superman blew out with enough force that the resulting wind was nothing less than gale-force, while Green Lantern manifested a huge muggle desk-fan.

Neither succeeded in even thinning the cloud, and Harry followed up immediately by capturing Green Lantern in a full-body-bind. His eyes went wide as his limbs locked up and he tumbled to the ground, but Harry knew the spell wasn't going to be all that much help. Green Lantern's powers were from his own imagination, and he did not need to be able to move.

Superman flashed forward, but the moment he hit the smoke he was repelled hard enough to embed him deep within the opposite wall. Harry cast a powerful doubling charm on the kryptonite still held in his hand. He kept hold of the original piece, but sent the other to seek out Superman, who attempted to bat it away. The moment he hit it, the single lump of kryptonite became three, and all three stopped in the air, and began to pursue him. He was forced into the air, and started fleeing the pursuing stones.

Herpo shrieked at his two slaves: "Fools! _Kekau̯menos!_ "

A gout of flame poured from Daphne's wand, and as soon as it touched Harry's conjured smoke, the middle of the room exploded in fire. Harry could feel his hair singe, even through the shield charm he'd made sure to keep applied. He looked over to check on Diana, who was covering her face with her arms.

He didn't want to think what it might be doing to Astoria, Draco, or Quigley. He needed to end the battle as quickly as possible, and really there was only one thing he could think of that might achieve it. He needed to draw Herpo's spirit away from Daphne, and ensure it was destroyed completely.

"So many tricks," said Herpo, and Daphne's voice shook with the rage of her controller. "So much power and you squander it as a servant to the filthy masses. With your power, you could _rule_. Why did you give it up?"

"Never much seen the attraction of ruling," said Harry.

"Then I shall rule you. _Imperio!_ "

Suddenly, the black smoke pulled back, and a feeling of deep contentment and wellbeing flooded his every sense. A voice spoke to him, seemingly issuing from the calming clouds that filled his mind: "Step forward." It was only the gentlest of suggestions, but Harry felt his body tense to follow it.

Yet, as always, there was a part of him that was looking on. A part that knew what was happening, and knew that it was not right. Ordinarily, that part, that sense that the world could never be so purely _right_ would rebel against the feelings.

Not this time. This time, the small part of Harry that was still capable of thinking and questioning, opted to hold back. And so, like a passenger within his own body, he looked on as he stepped forward as commanded.

"You are strong," said Herpo, and through clouded eyes, Harry could see the strain that was being put on Herpo to maintain his curses upon three conscious minds. Superman may have been easy. Green Lantern would have been harder due to the nature of his powers, but as a muggle he would still be unable to put up much resistance. Harry, even holding his natural defiance back, was a completely different matter. Sweat beaded upon Daphne's forehead. "I am the stronger. Still, your resistance is laudable. I think we must break that."

The sound of it was muffled, but he could hear both Diana and Astoria trying to call out to him, to reach him. Much though he wanted to give them some indication that all was not lost he knew he could not, for if he did, Herpo would surely feel it.

Diana did more than merely call out to him, however. She found some reserve of strength that even she could not have known she had, and tore the bars of her prison open with a scream of exertion.

The voice returned to Harry's mind. "Make her suffer," it whispered, enticing. "Make her weep."

He extended his wand before him as Diana's golden lasso snaked out to encircle him. As it tightened around him, he felt the clouds recede, if only slightly. Perhaps it wouldn't have allowed Superman to throw off Herpo's influence, but combined with his own innate resistance, the spell slipped.

Herpo felt it at the same moment Harry did, and he panicked.

In the moment of clarity, Harry winked at Diana, and he really hoped she understood. Then Superman tackled her into the ground, throwing up a cloud of dust and rubble which rained down over the entire room. He was followed a moment later by a swarm of kryptonite, which disappeared into the hole. Diana's lasso released him; the clouds rolled back.

"Do you see what happens when you try to fight?" said Herpo. He cackled with vicious glee. "See the worth of your morals? They are less than nothing before my power. Surrender yourself to me!"

Harry said nothing, but behind the comforting wall of fog, he readied himself for what was surely to come. Then the clouds that filled his sense spoke again. "Walk into the cauldron. Give yourself up to me."

His legs carried him to the cauldron, and though he could hear Diana call out to him to stop, he did not. There was only one way this was going to end, and that required Herpo to separate himself from Daphne by choice.

The only time he'd do that was when he thought there was a better option available. As Harry meekly followed the commands being whispered to him by the fog of contentment, his core self, his true self, hoped that it was enough to deceive Herpo.

The cauldron was mere feet away, and his steady stride only bore him closer. He could smell it. The foul odour of decay clogging his nostrils. He could feel it, the magic of the cauldron corrupted and warped into nothing more than a debased reflection of its true purpose.

Then he reached it, and without so much as a pause, he threw himself in, headfirst.

It was as if his entire body had erupted in flames, like liquid fire was running in his veins. It was perhaps even worse than the cruciatus curses he'd experienced at Voldemort's hands. Not only did it feel like his entire body was being burned away, but his very soul was being torn at by the dark magics woven into the liquid held within the cauldron.

Then, suddenly, a wave of cold washed over him, and he felt another try to force a path into his mind. Herpo.

The pain melted away to little more than a dull throbbing, and Harry found himself in an empty void, filled only with gently curling wisps of cloud. He didn't even have a body.

Inside the void, a shadow materialised, and coalesced into a dark shape. It was a man, wizened and frail, with a long tangled beard, a hooked nose, and sunken eyes which burned like coals deep within his face.

At long last, Harry heard the true voice of Herpo the Foul. It was every bit as harsh and cruel as he'd expected It was the voice of a man for whom compassion was long forgotten, or perhaps he'd never learned it in the first place. "Weak minded fool. Did you really think you could hope to stand against the greatest wizard to ever live? I can see you now. All of you. You shied from death, while I embraced everything it could be. Everything it could grant me! I will take the weapons you cast aside in your weakness, and with them I shall remake the world as it always should have been."

As Herpo spoke, Harry focused his own thoughts, drawing his essence back from the obscuring clouds of the Imperius Curse. His own body took shape in the void, and he met Herpo's gaze unflinchingly.

"No," he said. "I don't think you will."

Herpo's eyes went wide as he realised what had happened. "Impossible!"

"I'm afraid not," said Harry evenly. "The imperius curse and I have never gotten along all that well. I think you may have overplayed your hand."

"You might have the will to resist my control, but your weakness is still clear," said Herpo, and the force of his glare was an almost physical presence. Though what that meant in the theatre of Harry's own mind, he did not know. "You have but brushed with the powers that I have embraced. I am the master!"

A thin beam of blinding power lanced towards Harry from Herpo's outstretched hand, but it was turned aside by an idle flick of Harry's hand.

"Please don't insult my intelligence," said Harry evenly. "This is _my_ mind, not yours."

"It is yours for only so long as I allow it to remain so," said Herpo, before his body exploded into a cloud of such featureless darkness that it was more like a hole in the world of Harry's mind. The cloud swirled around Harry, gathering speed as it did so, until it seemed to fill everything.

With the merest thought, Harry conjured an orb of pure light into his hand, and it drove the darkness back a short way. "Give it up," he said, as the light and dark battled for dominance. "I don't even need to win. I just need to delay losing until the cauldron ruptures."

Herpo didn't reply with words, but instead Harry felt him draw on some other power, and the light in his hand began to flicker.

Then it died, and the darkness streamed in.

The pain Harry experienced then was not hot, nor cold. The closest sensation he could remember to it had been when he had come close to experiencing the Dementor's kiss. The sensation of a soul being pulled inexorably from a body was impossible to describe, but this was something new. His soul was not being pulled as a whole, but instead the darkness was tearing at it indiscriminately. Like a furious animal, it tore into Harry's essence.

Perhaps that was what the creation of a horcrux felt like: the rending sensation, and the indefinable feeling of loss.

Almost anyone would have fled from such a desecration of their most core selves, but he was Harry Potter, and he would not run. Instead, he fought back with every facet. Every fear and insecurity was unleashed to eat at Herpo even as he tried to tear Harry asunder. Every hope and desire fortified him against the continued attacks. No time passed, but it went on for a lifetime. Eventually, Herpo's frantic attacks began to weaken.

The moment Harry felt them stall, he called on everything he had to conjure the light once again, and this time it really worked. The darkness was thrown out, though it felt very much like it had taken every one of Harry's bones with it. He dropped to his knees within the once more blissfully white environment of his own mind. Herpo rematerialised not far away, and he too fell to his knees.

"You have doomed us both!" said Herpo, desperate and out of breath. As he spoke, the wisps of fog started to spiral inwards, as he gathered what remaining power he could find to himself. "Two souls within the cauldron are too many. The spell will rupture!"

Harry didn't have the energy to argue. Herpo was right, after-all. "So it will," he said. "Like I said. I am not afraid to die if that is what must be done. I've done it before."

"Deluded fool!" Herpo cried, his voice cracking from the effort. Despite his exhaustion, another thin beam of blinding power lanced towards Harry.

With an almost glacial slowness, Harry brought his hand up to block it, and he felt the burn of it as it seared his hand. Still, he did not back down. "It's over, Herpo," he said tiredly.

"No. No! I will _not_ die! I command you!"

Harry let out a croaking laugh. "Isn't that how we got here?" he asked, shaking his head. "Hasn't everyone suffered enough?"

"Their suffering is _nothing_. I am Herpon! Death serves my decree!" Herpo's eyes were wild, filled with mad desperation. " _Imperio!_ "

So weakened was Herpo that the spell was barely more than a faint desire in Harry's mind. Tired though he was, he cast it off.

"No!" cried Herpo. "It is the _Imperius Curse_. The boy. He said it was impossible to resist. Not even the _heroes_ could resist it."

Harry shook his head, and through great force of will, he pushed himself to his feet. "You should have stuck to what you know," he said. "The imperius curse commands the body; it deadens the mind. It does not control the soul."

"But you will die too! I have given too much for this, learned too much that will be lost," said Herpo, and now Harry could easily hear the note of pleading in his voice. "Magics that have been lost to the ages are mine to command. Powers so great they were once wielded by the gods themselves, that brought about an Empire of Tears unlike any which has come since!"

"Everyone dies," said Harry evenly. "I've done it before. It doesn't have to hurt. Not if you don't fight it."

Another explosion of power shot from Herpo's outstretched hand, but this time it was weaker, and Harry was able to turn it aside once more..

Desperately, Herpo gathered every bit of his power and screeched: "I _cannot_ die!"

It was too late, though. Harry could feel the magic surrounding them reach its crescendo, and suddenly, the white fog about them burst into flame, and Herpo's final shout was drowned in his own screams.

The pain was back, and this time Harry knew there would be no respite. It grew and grew, until there was nothing more than the pain, and his entire being was lost in the inferno which raged across the surface of his soul. Then he heard Herpo's screams die, and a great shockwave burst from his dying essence.

The power of it extinguished the flames almost completely, but the white clouds were completely gone. In their place was only darkness.

o-o

"Harry!"

The single word, little more than meaningless syllables really, entered the black void, like pinpricks of reality in an empty universe.

They had a meaning, those sounds.

Then they came again. "Harry!" It was a name.

With that realisation the darkness seemed to twist, and no longer was it formless, but it was filled with black clouds and soot. Yet in the distance, a light was growing.

"Harry, can you hear me?"

 _He_ was Harry. That was it, and the voice? He recognised the voice.

Diana.

Suddenly the light rushed back, and he felt his senses return in a great wave of sensation. The smell of burning, the sensation of heat, the sound of flames. At last he opened his eyes, and all around him was fire.

No. Not all.

Diana was next to him, cradling his body as she carried him out of the ruined Manor. She was bleeding, and covered in bruises and scrapes, but she was flying, and he was alive.

He tried to speak, but in that moment, the only sound he could make was a weak croaking noise that barely even managed to make it past his lips.

Injured as she was, her hearing was clearly still every bit as good as it usually was. She looked down, and their eyes locked for a long moment. Something passed between them in that moment, something that didn't need words to be communicated.

"You're alive," she said, her voice was heavy with relief, but Harry also heard a scratchiness there. Was it from the smoke and fire?

"Seems so," said Harry, and he was gratified to hear that while his voice wasn't strong, it had managed a much better showing than his first attempt. "Don't think being dead hurts this much."

"What were you thinking?" Diana asked, her blue eyes searching him as if trying to pull the answer from his mind directly.

"It had to be me," said Harry as she laid him upon the blessedly cool ground. His eyelids felt so very heavy. "Besides, I figured I was leaving things in good hands."

His eyes drifted closed again. The last thing he saw before exhaustion took him, was a look of shock in Diana's incredible blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned before, I somewhat overestimated the amount of free time I'd have this December, so it was a bit of a push to get everything out in time. It wasn't helped by my decision to throw out the sensible, well organised plan to write my Shadow of Angmar update well ahead of time in favour of writing a 20k word long Harry/Fleur (unusually for me, non-crossover) short story. If you're still looking for something to read, and you have not yet seen that, why not check out Autumn Leaves on my page?
> 
> Anyway, this means there is only one chapter to go here, which I intend to post on New Year's Day. See you then!


	18. Chapter 18

"Why did you do it, Harry?"

Minister Shacklebolt was sitting at the side of Harry's bed in St Mungos, and he looked every bit as frazzled as Harry, despite not having been caught in the middle of a literal explosion of magical fire.

"We needed the edge, Shack," said Harry simply. He'd known when he'd done it that there would be hell to pay if it was found out. Seemed Thompson was willing to risk his own neck to get back at Harry.

Shacklebolt sat back in his chair and massaged his temples. "There's channels for that. Proper channels that don't result in me having to put my Head Auror on probation pending an investigation. Your name is already being dragged through the mud because of what happened at the Hollow during your last fight."

"You know I did the right thing. I'd have used the official channels if I thought we had time," Harry countered. "In case you missed it, I still only just got it in time. Without that kryptonite, last night could have been so much worse. The Hollow was a mess, but when you're dealing with the likes of Herpo you either fight and accept the consequences, or you roll over and die for him."

A long-suffering sigh was Shacklebolt's only response to that. Harry knew that really there wasn't much value in arguing. Shacklebolt had probably backed him to the hilt, but when the Wizengamot _and_ ICW got their nipples in a twist about something, there was only so much he could do before the entire country started taking the fall-out.

"Look, it's not so bad," said Harry evenly. "Padma knows the job better than I do, and the team is good. You know that. You trained some of them, remember?"

"They may be good," said Shacklebolt, "but they're not you. What if something like this happens again?"

"Well, you'll know where to find me." He shrugged, and immediately regretted it as he felt the skin that was regrowing after being almost completely burned off caught on the fabric of his hospital robes. "Not like I'm going anywhere."

They lapsed into silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Then, something occurred to Harry.

"By the way, I extracted a heavily charmed box from the lockup at the same time as the kryptonite. Did that get sent down to the greycloaks like I requested?"

"It did," said Shacklebolt. His expression looked a little troubled. "It contained some kind of demon hand."

"Demon hand?" Harry asked, puzzled. "I thought they evaporated as soon as the demon died."

"Indeed," said Shacklebolt. "In the circumstances, Croaker has had it sent down to secure storage. There's not much to be learned from it, and it apparently has a disturbing habit of trying to murder anyone who gets within ten feet of it."

"Probably for the best, then." The Department of Mysteries secure storage room was a bit of a wonder that Harry had only seen once or twice in all his years with the Ministry. It held all manner of cursed objects, from as far back as the time of Merlin. There wasn't much that warranted that kind of protection; the most recent example being the book that Harry had uncovered in Gotham a few months previously, but every now and then something came along that was too dangerous to even _destroy_. Those things were kept a stable time-loop in the deepest levels of the Ministry.

Even Harry was willing to admit that the security of that room was probably sufficient. The nature of the time loop meant that items could only ever be _added_ to the room, never removed. Any attempt at taking anything from the room would result in it simply vanishing the moment the thief crossed the threshold, along with a large part of whatever part of the thief was holding onto the item in question.

It wasn't even really _magic_ that provided the protection, which meant that even Voldemort and his followers had never attempted to remove any of the items.

"How's everyone else doing?" Harry asked eventually.

"Ezekial picked up Mirabelle's body up this morning," said Shacklebolt sadly.

He'd wanted to speak to the man, but had evidently missed him. Though, he wasn't sure what he would have said. Really, what could you say to a man who'd lost a daughter that didn't feel like some meaningless platitude? She'd been brave, a credit to the auror force, but ultimately, all that paled in comparison. That was what she had been, and what she was now was dead. Nothing Harry said would be able to change that.

Shacklebolt continued: "The rest have been healed up and released. Quigley was sent home just shortly before you woke up. You're the last one still in hospital." Shacklebolt leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. "Now, if you don't mind. Thanks to you, I haven't slept in the last forty-eight hours."

Harry wasn't about to let him get out of answering questions that easily. "What about Daphne and the Malfoys?"

"They're fine too."

" _How_ are they fine?" said Harry when he realised that was all he was seemingly going to get. "Astoria and Daphne were right next to me when I jumped into that thing."

Shacklebolt opened one eye, and peered at Harry in obvious displeasure. Eventually, when Harry didn't back down, he sighed and sat up again. "They're still trying to work out exactly what happened," he said wearily. "The explosion made it almost impossible to work out exactly what Herpo did, but it seems that the imperius curses were released the moment Herpo left Miss Greengrass' body to take control of yours. There was only a second between that happening, and the explosion, but Superman and Wonder Woman were able to get everyone out of there before it occurred."

"What about the rest of the Justice League?"

"That required Miss Greengrass' presence, but the spell has been reversed." Shacklebolt hesitated for a moment, just as Harry was about to ask why, he continued: "MACUSA made an attempt to obliviate the experience from their minds, but it did not go well, I am afraid to say."

Harry knew that tone. "How 'not well'?"

"No serious injuries." He was very quick to make that clear. "However, they were understandably annoyed about the attempt. I believe they have decided to move their base of operations away from America, much to the muggle government's displeasure."

It wasn't at all surprising that that hadn't gone down well, but the lack of injury was at least something positive. "Where are they moving?" he asked. "Not here, I assume?"

"Apparently not," said Shacklebolt drily. "In fact, it appears that they have decided to go to space."

"You mean that massive space-station being built by Wayne. What was it called? The Watchtower?" He frowned. "I thought that wasn't finished yet?"

"It's not," Shacklebolt admitted, "but it is close enough that it's livable, apparently."

Harry whistled to himself. As far as middle-fingers went, that was a pretty big one right in the face of the ICW. There was no way they'd be able to influence a local government to move against the Justice League if they weren't in any of their member nations' jurisdiction.

The fact that Shacklebolt had bowed to pressure and put Harry on probation was much more understandable in light of that little piece of information. "So I guess 'pissed-off' would be—"

"An understatement? Yes."

"Well, in that case," said Harry as he shifted slightly to ease the pressure on his shoulder. "I guess I should let you have that nap. Seems I owe you one."

Shacklebolt shook his head sadly. "That's just the thing, it's all of us who owe you. Can you even imagine what would have happened if Herpo had managed to regain a true body? With control over the Justice League?"

He had a very good idea. "Nothing good."

"Nothing good," echoed Shacklebolt. "Best case scenario would be the exposure of our kind to the muggles, and in hardly the most positive light."

"Well, I guess we've put that particular problem off 'till next week," said Harry seriously. "One day soon, we're going to miss our luck, you know Shack? Only way it comes out positively for us is if we get ahead of it."

Shacklebolt waved his hand, and Harry could see the weight the past few days had put on him as he did so. "For now, at least, our world is safe. Now, if you don't mind? I'm going to have my nap."

It took less than a minute for him to drop off, but it wasn't long after he did that someone knocked on the door.

A quick deafening charm on Shacklebolt ensured he'd get the sleep he needed, and Harry called for his newest guest to enter.

It was Hermione who was first to enter, soon to be joined by Ron.

"Harry—!" she began, before she realised the Minister for Magic was snoozing in the corner and cut herself off.

"Don't worry," said Harry as he attempted a grin. "I put a deafening charm on him when you knocked. No need to disturb him."

"Nice one," said Ron as they both moved over to Harry's bed.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked him, all concern.

"Well, mostly like I jumped into a cauldron of boiling acid which then exploded with me inside it," said Harry. "You know how it is."

"He's got you there," said Ron as he nudged her with his elbow.

Hermione gave him one of her textbook exasperated smiles. "Well, I assume Kingsley has filled you in on everything that's been going on."

"The broad strokes, yeah," said Harry. "Seems I'm on probation."

"Would have been worse than that if Malfoy of all people hadn't gone out to beat for you at the Wizengamot," said Ron. There was a begrudging respect there that he seemed entirely uncomfortable with. "Called you a hero, would you believe?"

"Well, Harry _did_ save his life," Hermione pointed out.

"I also destroyed quite a lot of his house," said Harry. Much though he knew he should, he couldn't find it in him to regret that particular part of the evening.

"Acceptable losses," said Ron. He looked far too pleased about the whole thing. He then realised just what he'd said and his smile died. "Um, you know what I meant."

"Well, anyway," said Hermione, clearly choosing to ignore their little aside. "Thanks to Malfoy, the Wizengamot pushed back against the ICW's demands. Before he said his piece, I think old Ralston Smith had them convinced that you were a menace that needed to be removed from office. You've made yourself a new enemy there, I'm afraid. He was very close to his great grand-daughter."

Harry wouldn't begrudge the man his hatred in the situation. He should have done more, done something. He was meant to be the best of the best, and a simple ambush had gotten his people killed. What could he do, though, but try and carry on the job that had meant so much to Mirabelle? Malfoy's support was the more surprising thing. "I'm sure Draco won't let me forget it," said Harry as he shook his head. "He'll try to get his pound of flesh somehow."

Ron looked between them both, confused. "Pound of what? That's disgusting, mate."

"It's a muggle expression, Ron," said Hermione in the sing-song voice of one who'd long ago got tired of saying it. "It's from Shakespeare."

"Oh," said Ron blankly. "Him. Right."

"Anyway, I'm not so sure," she said, returning her attention to Harry. "He seemed to be really grateful."

Harry just shrugged, hopefully communicating that it didn't much matter either way. "What about the papers?"

Ron looked a little uneasy. "Oh, well, you know how much pull the Smiths have at the Prophet," he said. "As far as they're concerned, you've been toppled off that pedestal of yours completely. Calling you a menace, and a threat to the statute after your… what did they call it? Weekend of terror, I think. Might want to avoid opening your own post for a while, mate."

"Kingsley's managed to keep the details of what actually happened fairly quiet," Hermione added by way of explanation. "The papers didn't publish a thing about the Justice League, for example. So as far as everyone is aware, you were just chasing after some ordinary Dark Witch."

That was probably a smart choice on Shack's part. He'd take the flack for the deaths if it meant people's confidence in the Statute was maintained. If the Justice League's, or more specifically, Superman's involvement was revealed, there would probably be a panic. He did wonder how long something like that could be kept under wraps, though. "Has there been any communication from the League?"

"Nothing I've heard about," said Hermione quickly.

"Nor Percy," said Ron.

Harry felt himself deflate a little. Of course he knew that it was likely the politically smart thing to do. With the amount of shit being flung around in Britain, at the ICW, and MACUSA, it was much more sensible to wait for things to die down a bit. Just because something was the smart or sensible thing didn't mean he was relishing the public backlash. He'd had plenty of opportunities to see just how vindictive the wizarding public could be when they thought they had all the answers.

"Anyone in particular you were hoping to hear from?" Hermione asked in a voice that was all feigned innocence. It was a completely transparent attempt to take his mind off his darker thoughts.

Harry scowled at her, though his heart wasn't really in it. "I just wanted to make sure their people were okay."

"Ha!" Ron followed up the barked-out laugh with a firm pat on the shoulder, sending ripples of pain through it and causing Harry to wince. Ron didn't notice, however, and continued: "I dunno who you think you're fooling, mate, but I don't think that's worked since like fourth year."

Realising that was probably a losing battle, Harry didn't respond. Instead, he settled for a half-hearted glare that Ron shrugged off easily.

"Maybe being put on probation is a blessing," said Hermione thoughtfully. "You've always been far too focused on the job to let anyone get close."

"Maybe," Harry hedged. He didn't have the energy for an argument over his life choices, and he certainly wasn't going to go chasing after women the day after one of his aurors had died so senselessly. "Look, you two are welcome to stay, but I think Shack has the right idea here. I'm going to have a nap."

Hermione released an exasperated sigh, but she didn't complain. After near-enough a decade of trying to get Harry to take more time for personal stuff, she surely hadn't expected much more. Still, glanced at Ron, who nodded just slightly, then she smiled. "We'll stay for a short while. You get your rest, Harry."

"Yeah, mate, you still look a fright," said Ron as he conjured a couple of squishy chairs in the most obnoxious shade of orange that Harry could have imagined. "Figure you need that beauty-sleep."

As Harry lay back, and felt the tiredness sweep back over him, his final action was to raise a single finger in Ron's direction.

There was something homey about the combination of Ron's guffaw, combined with Hermione's little huff of mock outrage. It meant the world was, for the time being at least, back to being just people doing people things. No gods or heroes messing it all up.

o-o

A knock on his front door was an unusual occurrence.

Most visitors to 12 Grimmauld Place came through the Floo or, occasionally, apparated into the garden and came in through the back, so he was surprised to hear the sound of someone rapping firmly on the door-knocker.

A quick scrying charm revealed Diana as the source of the knocking, dressed down in a casual but still very fetching blouse and skirt ensemble. Just behind her was the unmistakable figure of Kal El, though he too was out of his Superman costume. Without wasting any time, Harry pulled the door open.

"Diana, it's good to see you're doing okay," he said. As opening lines went, it probably wasn't his strongest, but it drew a warm and honest smile from her, so he'd let it pass. He turned to Kal. "How are you managing? Do you prefer Clark, or Kal, by the way?"

"Clark is fine, and I can barely remember most of it," he replied, but Harry knew it wasn't as simple as that. "I do know that I have you to thank though, Harry. It could have been so much worse. I only wish I could have resisted more than I did."

Harry regarded him for a second. "Hey, even resisting as much as you did was… well, super-human I guess, but you have to know you didn't have a chance when Herpo found out about the imperius curse. Without your resistance in the beginning, I probably would have died in Scotland, and who knows what would have happened from there. Not sure I want to know," he said, shuddering at the thought. His words probably weren't much help. It seemed unlikely that there was anything Harry could _say_ which would change the horrifying reality of what Superman had been forced to do. Harry just had to hope that he had some kind of support structure that would help him come to terms with what had happened. He turned to Diana. "And you? You look good."

"I am well," she said, as her eyes tracked up and down him. "More importantly, how are you? You seem to be fully recovered already?"

"One of the wonders of magic," said Harry easily, as he stepped to the side to invite them both in. "Not much they can't fix in a few hours."

He was being a little flippant. The dark magic in the spells Herpo had been using meant that he'd been stuck in St. Mungos for a couple of days, but at the end of the day, he'd still gotten off easily.

"There are many such wonders," she said as she brushed past him. Rather than making herself at home, she did know her way about after-all, she instead stood in the hall. "What about the rest of your people?"

Harry gestured in the direction of the sitting room and said, sadly: "Apart from Mirabelle, they're fine," he said. He caught the sorrowful expression on Clark's face, and realised that might have been a slightly insensitive way of putting it. "Please, there's no need to stand on ceremony. Do you want anything to drink or eat?"

The three of them moved through into the living room, and Harry waited for Diana and Clark to take a seat before he lowered himself into one nearby.

"I don't suppose you have any coffee?" Clark asked.

Harry smiled and flicked his wand in the direction of the kitchen. "I think I can manage that. Diana?"

"Tea would be my preference," she said.

Harry conjured two cups, and filled them both with tea from the tip of his wand. He handed Diana's across, which she accepted with a gracious smile, while Kal's coffee floated through the air into his hand. A moment later, a small jug of milk glided slowly from the kitchen and hovered between them.

A little unsure, Clark held his cup out to the jug experimentally. When it gracefully tipped up and poured exactly the right amount of milk in, he looked very pleased with himself. Diana then did the same.

"I heard they were able to reverse the curse cast over the rest of the league," said Harry after the jug had made its exit back to the kitchen.

"They did," said Clark. He looked a little put-out until he took a sip and released a satisfied breath.

Diana completed his thought: "They did, though I assume you heard about the attempt they made to wipe our minds?"

That drew a grimace from Harry. "I did."

"And what did you think?" She held his gaze, her bright blue eyes watching him closely.

"I can't say I'm surprised," he said with a tired shake of his head. "I've been trying to hold them back, but it's been a losing battle, especially now that I'm on the outs. They're scared. More scared than I think they'd ever admit."

"Scared of what, though?" said Diana, frowning. "The Justice League is no threat to them. We can _help_. Was this all not evidence of that?"

Harry couldn't help the cynical chuckle that escaped his mouth. "Honestly, I think _that_ is what they're afraid of. Kind of, anyway.

"You need to understand," he continued, "that witches and wizards have been separate from muggles for hundreds of years, and in that time we've seen them grow in number so much that our entire population now barely even registers. It was okay, though, because we were special. We could do the impossible.

"Muggles are used to the idea that there are things in the world that they cannot fight. Things which could end them in a moment without a single chance to fight back. Witches and wizards, though? Not so much. With the Justice League, and things like Starro appearing so suddenly out of nowhere we're no longer the most dangerous thing on the planet any more. That's what scares them.

"They feel like they're being usurped."

"We're not here to usurp anyone," said Clark, looking troubled at the thought of it.

"It is not our intention at all," Diana added. "We only want to protect the world."

"You can understand their fear, though, right?" Harry asked her. "After-all, Superman"— Harry nodded to Clark —"is one of the best, and if he can become this terrifying weapon, capable of taking out almost any wizard on the planet. Wouldn't _you_ be worried?"

Diana nodded thoughtfully. "This is something that is often brought up," said Diana. "Bruce believes it is of absolute importance that there must always be a countermeasure in case any one of us should stray."

"It's not even unique to your people," said Clark, shaking his head ruefully. "Plenty of ordinary people have bought into Luthor's hostility towards what we've been trying to do."

That reminded Harry of his conversation with DCI Thompson. "Actually, does the name 'Mercy Graves' mean anything to you?"

Diana shook her head, but Clark sat up straight. "Mercy Graves? She's Luthor's attack dog," he said seriously. "What about her?"

"Well, she was trying to get ahold of the kryptonite from the museum attack," said Harry. "I don't know why, or anything more than that really. Seemed like the kind of thing you'd want to know, though."

Setting his mug down, Clark stood up. "I'm sorry to dash like this, but I should really make sure they didn't have any other plans."

"Don't worry about it," said Harry with a nod. It was understandable. "She didn't get ahold of it, so hopefully that's the end of it."

"I'm not so sure," said Clark, and wasn't that ominous? "Anyway, thank you for the coffee, and the help. I mean it when I say it. You ever need help with anything at all. You just give me a call."

Harry stood and shook the man's hand. "Don't mention it," he said as he waved a hand at the door to the back garden. "I'll see you around."

After a final farewell, Clark disappeared out of the door, and then into the sky in a streak of red and blue. Harry hadn't even seen him change.

Harry and Diana lapsed into a short silence then. It wasn't uncomfortable, just thoughtful. Eventually, it was Diana who broke it.

"Do you remember speaking to me after the explosion?" she asked.

Caught off guard by the seeming non sequitur, it took Harry a moment to respond. "I guess so," he said, it was fairly fuzzy. Pain had a tendency to do that. "I think you asked if I was alive?"— he smiled slightly —"I wonder what you would have said if I'd said 'no'?"

Diana smiled too, though there was something else there that Harry couldn't quite pin down.

"You said it had to be you," she said, and she seemed more uncertain than Harry had ever seen. "What did you mean by that?"

It took him a moment to dredge that particular memory up, but when he did he caught her gaze. "Mean? I don't know if I _meant_ anything by it," he said after giving it some thought. "It's just how everything played out. I didn't _want_ to throw myself into the middle of a magical explosion waiting to happen, but I didn't see any other way for you and everyone else to have a chance."

He shifted uneasily as Diana stared at him, or maybe she was staring through him at something only she could see. After a moment, she shook her head, and stood up.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, and her sincerity was obvious, even if Harry didn't really know what he was being thanked for. "I should return to the Watchtower to begin my shift. I would not want to keep you from your work."

Harry led her back through to the front door. "Well, if you need to go," he said, and he felt a pang of sadness. Perhaps he'd said the wrong thing? He opened the door for her once more and she stepped through. "No need to worry about the job though. Like I said, I'm on probation because of that whole rotten mess of an investigation. I have all the time in the world."

Her hair whipped around as she turned. "You do?" She paused for a moment before smiling, and for some reason it was infectious. "Want to see the Watchtower?"

There was still a little voice in his head that was trying to point out that it could only end in disaster, but he silenced it. Perhaps it was time to live a little. "Sure," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nd there we are. As I have mentioned before, I have plans for a third story in this series, though after writing two whole stories in this fusion, I might take a little longer to write the third, especially as I imagine it will be rather longer than Kicking Gotham or Toppling Heroes.
> 
> There is no doubt that these are some of my less popular stories, but I've had a lot of fun writing them and at least a few of your have had some fun reading them, so I consider it a win. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed. A story requires a reader every bit as much as it needs a writer, so thank you all for contributing to this story, and letting me know what you think about it. You're awesome.
> 
> So, look out for another story in this series some time in 2021 (depending on how my other projects come along). As before, follow me to be notified. Alternatively, I'll also come back to this story to insert a kind of 'post-credits scene' chapter when the time comes for the sequel to start being posted.
> 
> I guess the only thing to do now is to wish you all a very Happy New Year.


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